#I got a B my report was kinda shit

[orca-iguana]

It proved its infact entirely possible to make plasma hot enough to separate water into hydrogen and oxygen (far cooler than the burning point of my microwave) using 12V and <0.1 amps of electricity at room temp so I'd say close enough!

why are you microwaving carbonated drinks that feels wrong.

IDK, most people hate it, but I'm also the person that purposely lets coke go flat because I like it better flat so me and carbonated drinks have a weird relationship.

[neo-nomatrix]

HAWK TUAH !

jjk men during a bl0w!e

MULTIPLE X READER

-> GOJO, SUKUNA, CHOSO, GETO, NANAMI, TOJI

cw: bj stuff. cum play (kinda idk) rough characters. dirty talk. degradation. choking

GOJO SATORU AKA HEAD PUSHER

Soooo needy it’s insane. He’s so desperate to feel every inch of your soft warm mouth. he promises to let you do your thing but as soon as you wrap your lips around the tip his hands fly to your head and his hips snap. he’s muttering apologize as he pushes you down until your nose touches his skin. he throws his head back and moans open mouthed like a slut.

he’ll get so caught up in the moment he keep you down there for like 30 seconds just grinding his hips into your mouth. let’s you up when you pinch his thigh. you will be coughing and your face will be covered in spit by the end. he lovess facials and always rubs the cum in using his tip. he keeps a photo of you with his cock on your face and cum in your mouth as his wallpaper.

“s-shit baby… deeper, little more”

“you can take it, i know you can baby”

“just make me feel good okay?”

RYOMEN SUKUNA AKA THROAT DESTROYER

uhm yeah… what did you expect. does not give a shit about you when his cock is in your mouth. keeps you at the edge of the bed with your head hanging off and his fucking your mouth like a fleshlight. goes so deep his cock is showing in your throat. your gags make him want to go another round. plugs your nose when you’re deep throating so you can’t breath.

“until my jaw locks” yeah he took that as a challenge. loves tying you up with a low vibrator on your clit while he fucks that mouth as torture. you honestly don’t know if you love it or hate it. Sukuna loves it though, that’s for sure. cums deep in your throat, every time. will face fuck you again if he sees you didn’t swallow it all.

“fuck gag on that dick, bitch”

“i can see my cock in your throat! but who’s surprised?”

“you better swallow my seed… it’ll probably reach your stomach with how deep i am”

CHOSO KAMO AKA WHINY B!TCH

again, who’s surprised. he thought handjobs were great… but this? whole different level. you start but sucking on the tip until he’s sensitive. then you lick stripes up and down his veins. you use soo much spit and he loves it. he loves it when you press kisses to his cock and then deep throat it.

hes mesmerized by the way your head moves, the way your lips look. he has to force himself to not throw his head back so he can see you. one time he got ahead of himself and snapped his hips up and you choked on him, best day of his life. when he found out your throat felt like that? no going back. he begs you to deep throat him all the time.

“more… more more more. please baby!”

“remember how good i eat you out? please treat me good”

“i know it’s too deep! im sorry i can’t stop baby”

SUGURU GETO AKA NICE N SLOW

just into good old fashioned blowjobs. your hand kept at the base and your lips move up and down his shaft. he wants your tongue swirling over it like a lollipop. he brushes your hair out of your face to see your expressions. he’s so gentle and nice when it comes to blowjobs.

let’s you grind on his leg while you suck him off. mostly uses it as foreplay and not a main way to get off. likes for your spit to act as lube for him to slide in. if he was gonna cum from a bj it would be on your tits. he loves that.

“fuck keep that up and i’ll cum”

“let it get hard in your mouth… that’s right”

“don’t give me those innocent eyes, slut”

NANAMI KENTO AKA UNDER THE DESK

oh you’ll support your working man, from under the desk. he’s so stressed about work these days and you have just the solution! you showed up to his home office in skimpy lingerie and without saying a word you crawl under his desk and get to work. he gets so flustered so fast, blushing and stuttering about how his report is due.

grips the chair so tight when you start working your magic. he doesn’t want to thrust up because he knows he’ll bruise your throat. uses his belt to wrap around your neck and guide you instead. pulls your hair an insane amount. cums in your mouth but likes to watch it pour out onto your body.

“i’m working baby… you’ll get me too distracted”

“wrap that belt around your neck, be a good assistant”

“is this you saying thank you for being my sugar daddy?”

TOJI FUSHIGURO AKA TWO HANDS

he’s so big you need to use your hands or else he might pop out on the other side of your neck. you’re moving your hands and your mouth at a similar pace. he definitely teaches you how he wants it. he guides your head to a good rhythm and then lets you do your thing.

maybe he’ll have a cigarette hanging out his mouth when you suck it. blowing smoke in your face to tease you. definitely makes fun of the fact that you can’t take all of him. your jaw has to be open so wide to get him in. cums everywhere, your face, throat, tits. doesn’t matter, if it’s you he’ll cum there.

“don’t just move your hands up and down baby, turn em”

“your face looks so fucking small next to my dick!”

“c’mon, try harder to take it or else i’ll force you to”

[carmenized-onions]

Something to Do. | Catering

logline; Itinerary for your trip to New York? Just try not to fucking cry.

[!!!] series history, this is the twelfth; gonna start season three after I post this. Wonder how bad it's gonna throw off the rest of my plot line. Ideally not at all. We'll see.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. I really like this playlist for all chapters, but for a wedding where music is blasting, it feels particularly fitting.

portion; 13.3k how does this keep happening.

possible allergies; Terrible self-image, everything feels bad, very real conversations abt ,,, self-death and addiction.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (gets referred to as a woman and other feminine honourifics but no pronouns, i believe)

i made you all so mad last chapter. Let's see if i can make it up to you, babydoll (probably wont)

You hate to admit it, but you were kind of relieved when you found out Carmen wasn’t coming on the plane. You’re in a bit of a state of fight or flight; well, more accurately, currently leaning towards the flight side— Pun intended.

He’s coming to the wedding. You know he is. For one, he’s getting thirty grand for this, he has to. For two, his location is still on for you— Whether he forgot to turn it off or just didn’t care, you’re not sure. But he hates you, so there’s no way it was intentional, you’re certain about that much.

You know you shouldn’t be looking at it, but you have. You’ve been looking all week. Checking your Find my Friends like a doting mother. He goes to work far too early, he stays far after close, he goes home. Rinse and repeat.

You check on him one last time before boarding the plane. He’s opted to drive, with Richie. Something about ‘wanting to bring their personal equipment’, Richie texted you. They’re halfway through Ohio. You’re sure that road trip is definitely going spectacular after their side of the explosion.

Richie texted the day after that fucking fiasco, asking if you’d want updates on how it’s going at The Bear. How it’s going with Carmen. You said you wanted to know if he wanted to tell. He opted not to tell.

You hate to admit, you were kind of relieved, to not know. To just look at Carmen’s little icon go from Point A to B. Instead of Carmen Reports, you and Richie text about much lighter things. Normal things. Eva drew a funny picture of you kinda things. It’s nice. You know you’re probably being childish, but it feels so much fucking better to ignore the Bear in the room. You don’t know how to feel about anything, and frankly you don’t want to try to figure it out.

You suck, Carmen sucks, what more is there to know? Process it? Fuck that.

Carmen hasn’t texted you; you haven’t texted him, the entire week. Radio silence. You stopped playing Connections. Didn’t see a point. Not like they even have a streak function anyways— You’d die before you let that Wordle streak break, though. That was your thing. Carmen doesn’t get to take your things, too.

You didn’t get a text from the Exec, either. So that’s… Something? Or, rather, explicitly, that’s nothing. Does that mean Carmen gives a shit? Not necessarily. Ugh. Your whole system was so shocked after that fucking fight that you didn’t really have time to take in the fact that that jag was into you? Vomit inducing. You’ve got to rethink your life choices, if they lead you to him. 

But also, you know if Carmen and you were okay right now, you probably would’ve given him your number. You would’ve catfished him for weeks, laughing over your phone with Carmen and Syd as this idiot falls into your trap. You miss Carmen. You also don’t miss Carmen. You want to see him desperately and also never fucking look at him again.

Carmen’s going to be in the kitchen; you’re going to be out in the banquet hall, on bar, this whole wedding. The likelihood either of you have to actually interact this weekend is quite low. The likelihood either of you have to confront what you’re supposed to do with yourselves now is quite low. You hate to admit it, you’re fucking relieved.

Sydney sleeps on your shoulder, for most of the plane ride. You sleep against her head. Shout out Marcus, for switching seats. He’s behind you, with Tina. He wakes both of you up about an hour in, shaking your seats— Because the dessert cart came out and he didn’t want either of you to miss it. The mini cheesecakes are better than expected, to be fair, so he’s forgiven.

This is going to be the stupidest weekend of your life. You’ll take that, over worst, at least.

“Be honest, would you tip me extra well?”

You give a twirl in your probably too fancy semi-cultural outfit. Your family shows up for weddings, if Vinnie and Mira didn’t want their bartender to go hard, they should’ve put that in their notes. It actually would have been nice to get sent notes, though… What is the theme for this wedding other than ‘Italian’ and ‘New York’…? Glitter eyeshadow is probably fine, right? Yeah it’s fine. Not like you could get that shit off now, anyways.

“If you were my bartender, I would ask ‘what are we?’” Answers Syd, watching you from the bathroom as she attempts to put her hair up. Definitely struggling in silence.

Sharing a hotel room was the best idea you ever had. It would be a nightmare to get ready alone in silence, right now. It’s nice to talk and have something to do. If you didn’t, you’d absolutely be ruminating about Carmen, debating whether or not to check on his room, that’s just down the hall, you could see if he needed help with getting ready and also see if he’s as tired as you think he is and— Plus, the amount you saved on splitting a one bed? Christ. Economy is in shambles. So is your brain.

“You would not be brave enough to ask your bartender ‘what are we?’”

“For you, I would.”

“Are we about to kiss, bro?” You duck into the bathroom, getting way too close to the side of Syd’s face. She laughs, pushing you away with the palm of her hand, you scoff, “Wooowwww—”

You clutch your heart, mortally wounded. Retching, truly. Now this is heartbreak in its rawest form. “—Reject me, why don’t you?”

“I’m playing the role of timid—” “I’m sick of this friends to lovers plot line!” “It adds! It adds!”

“Shut up— And tilt your head back, dumbass, what are you doing?” You stand behind her, taking her braids into your hands as she struggles to bundle them all herself.

“I do this all the time by myself, y’know.” So Syd says, but she lets you take her braids regardless.

“Yeah, but I’m here.” You stretch the hairband on your fingers. “Messy bun?”

“You think?”

“I think primal is too clean.”

“No, I was gonna do the one where it does like— Like the infinity in the front?”

“Who’s mom are you tryna fuckin’ look like?”

She kisses her teeth, attempting to reach a hand behind her head to smack you. You dodge and somehow manage to make it easier to smack you. “I’m literally only gonna get to come out after everyone’s left, I dunno why we’re making effort here—”

“High messy bun?” “High messy bun.”

Oh, the days of doing each other’s hair. You’re glad it’s back. You’re glad you get to become, together, again. It used to be bobbles, friendship bracelets, and glitter tattoos—but now it’s tying up each other’s hair, helping with the curling iron, clasping the gold chains on your neck, zipping up the back of your outfit, pinning the collar pins on her uniform, fixing makeup, asking each other to compare perfumes before going through with the final decision, mocking each other’s purchases.

“Wait, what mini deodorant did you get at customs?”

“Oh, one of those Native ones— I think it’s peach—?”

“Those cost like five fucking dollars, Ink. For like two swipes.”

“Excuse me for wanting to smell good, fuckin’ ‘wolfthorn’—”

“I work in a restaurant. I need Old Spice strength, okay—!”

“Oh, pbbbttt— Syd.”

“Pbb—Fuck, how do you do that?”

There’s a knock at the door, interrupting your squabble. “Are you decent?!”

Sydney groans, “No!”

“Yes, Rich, we’re decent, doors open.”

Richie comes in, unceremoniously. A touch awkward. He’s so rarely been in a room with women getting ready. It’s simultaneously exactly what he expected, and not at all what he expected. “Chip, can you put these fuckin’ things on f’me?”

Cufflinks. He presents the box to you. They’re just plain and silver, boring. Save that in your rolodex of gifts to get this Christmas. “You’re fuckin’ forty and you don’t know how to put on some cufflinks—?”

You’re nagging, but you’re already putting them on him, he holds his wrist out for you. “Nah, I was too busy runnin’ shit to learn.”

“Runnin’ your mouth, more like.”

“Yeah, yeah.” It’s a quiet moment, a tender moment, of adjusting his sleeves. Sydney’s scrambling to clean up the room around you two in the background. It’s hard to turn off the autopilot of cleaning one’s station, no matter where she goes.

You purse your lips. You shouldn’t ask and you shouldn’t care, but you do. You half-whisper, to Richie. “How was the drive?” He knows what you’re asking.

“Terrible start. Surprisingly okay middle. He went straight to the banquet hall once we got here.” He swallows, treading carefully, a thing Richie never does. “Do you wanna know the dirty details?”

Oh good, you wouldn’t be able to check on his room even if you wanted to. You want to. Need to? Stop thinking. Carmen sucks and you suck. 

“Not particularly.” You take one final look at his sleeves, happy with your handiwork, letting his wrists go. “You feel settled, though? Or jury’s still out?”

Richie shrugs, tilting his head back and forth. “Grovelled decent enough, by time we hit Penn. But I’m waitin’ on my informer.”

You cringe, knowing what he means. You also know he’d smack you if you said he doesn’t need your say in order to forgive Carmen. “It’s gonna be a minute, until your informer has an answer.”

“I know.” He nods, twisting his wrists back and forth, looking at the cufflinks. Then he gives you a once over. “Y’look good.”

“You too.” You look over him, he does look good. He’s in his suit, wearing his wedding ring, which makes your heart hurt a little bit, but he does look good. “What’s your fuckin’ job tonight, by the way?” He can’t be doing kitchen. He sucks at kitchen. But he’s also just not dressed for it.

“Fuckin’ everything.” Hyperbolic? Typically yes, with Richie, but not this time.

“Wait staff here had too high a fee—”

“Translation: more than free?”

“More than free, yeah.”

“Heard.”

“So, I’m server, set up, and fuckin’ whore-derve—”

“What?” That pronunciation snaps Sydney out of her autopilot clean, her back snaps up straight. Hands on her hips, like a disappointed teacher. “It’s hors d’oeuvres.”

Richie rolls his eyes and really his whole head back. “Just because you went to the fuckin’ CIA or whatever the fuck—”

You interrupt the fight before it can start. “Let’s just say appetizers.”

Sydney does not let you. “Apps and hors d’oeuvres are different.”

You angle your body from Richie to her, deadpanning. “Just because you went to the fuckin’ FBI or whatever the fuck—”

“Alright!” She’s already walking to the door, despite the fact that she started it— “We’ve gotta fuckin’ get to hall now or we’re gonna have like zero prep time, Chefs.”

You both follow after her, doing one last check to make sure you’ve got everything you need. You honestly don’t need to be in this much of a rush, you’re pretty sure, but you don’t mention that. Richie said Carmen just went straight to the banquet hall, when they came in this morning. You’re not sure how well you know him anymore, all things considered, but by your best guess, he’s almost certainly done all the prep by himself.

Carmen did not do the kitchen prep entirely himself. Well. He might’ve, you haven’t checked, but you don’t think he would’ve had the time.

Carmen did your prep entirely himself.

When you get to the bar, in the banquet hall, you have nothing to do. Side work finished for you. Lemons, limes, oranges— All cut into wedges and loaded in their baskets— even the cherries are pitted. The glasses are organized from wine to whiskey glasses, the sink is clean— Which you know the banquet hall staff didn’t do— They never fucking do.

You don’t see Carmen, but you know he did it. He showed up before anyone else, he was in the kitchen before anyone else— So no one else could’ve left the simple braised beef sandwich on your station. Exactly how Mikey used to make it. Half hot, half sweet. Your order at The Beef. Carmen would’ve done pork, but this is what they had on hand, and he had a feeling this would mean more, anyways. It does. Granola bar on the plate with it. One of the nice ones, too. The wrapping boasts fifteen grams of protein.

He knows how hard running bar is. He knows you won’t have time to eat once it starts. So, he’s making sure you get something down now— And that you have time to eat it in peace, and making sure you have something you can scarf mid-shift later, when you don’t have time.

Fucking. Hell. Fuck this fucking guy. Carmen fucking sucks. You fucking suck. This all fucking sucks so much. This sandwich is so fucking good. You’re so fucking mad. Stop saying fuck. Fuck your subconscious for wanting you to stop saying fuck. It’s so unfair, for him to be maybe the cruelest a person could possibly be, in front of an audience made out of your loved ones, and then be sweet, like this.

He is awful, with words— Well, he’s typically better, with you, par for the last time, but he’s best in the kitchen. You can taste the sorrow, the guilt, the apology. The first thing he ever made you, was a sandwich, the brisket sandwich, that Mikey refined for you, as an apology, for freaking the fuck out in a freezer and having that be your first impression of him— Or, at least, first first-hand impression of him. How far you’ve come.

This will not pass, as an apology. Not a proper one. But… You’ll give him a sign, in return, at least. A confirmation that you got the message, nothing more. Definitely nothing more.

“Rich.” You stop the guy in his tracks, as he marches through the room, helping the rest of the staff set up the hall. Not his job, but it’s Richie. “Can you ask kitchen their shifties?”

He nods, like he understands, walking away with stacks of chairs under both his arms.

He comes back after two minutes, straight up to your bar. “What the fuck is a shifty?”

“Oh.” You feel condescending, for being surprised. You’d never really thought about the huge difference between morning servers and night servers until right now. Richie has never worked with a bar staff. He worked at a fucking sandwich shop. “It’s uh— Your drink. Get a drink on your shift— Shifty— It can be like, a cocktail, a straight, a shot, coffee—”

“I know how many fucking drinks exist, Chip—” “Mocktail, smoothie, juice—” “Yeah, I’ll get a Pina Colada.” “I will break the blender over your head.” “I’ll get you a list.”

You nod, already starting on usuals you know will have remained unchanged since your absence. Steel trap memory. Getting drinks with The Beef staff used to be the highlight of your week, which isn’t a sad statement at all.  “I won’t tell anyone you like Dirty Shirleys.”

He defends. “Eva put me on them.”

“Insane thing to say about your five-year-old.”

“You know what I meant— She likes the normal—” “I’m pokin’ fun, go give this to Carmen.”

You’re hoping if you say it fast, coupled with bickering, Richie won’t make mental note of it. Won’t register it. Of course, he still does. How could he not? You slide the mug to him; he takes it, though, slow, with a perplexed look.

Yeah. They had lavender and maple syrup behind the bar. And cardamom. And milk to froth. And black coffee. Whatever. You didn’t have any dried lavender to top it with, this time, so it’s not actually that cool, anyways. Doesn’t make it special. Did you do a maple syrup drizzle to make up for this? Yeah. You hate yourself just a little bit, for it. You really cannot shut off the way you love, can you? Hopeless. Be even the slightest bit withholding, would you? Just a touch petty? God, you suck. Such a princess.

Rich shrugs, when you don’t try to justify yourself. You’re an adult, he won’t coerce you to be sharper, even if you should be. “Aye aye, Chippy.”

If Carmen ends up wanting to drink later, then he’ll have to come to you. That’s being tough, right? Sure. That’s definitely withholding, Chip. Really showed Carmen there. Certainly, a church woman must be clutching her pearls at your backbone, somewhere in the world.

Do you think you’d be able to handle him coming to your bar, anyways?

No. Decidedly no. Which is a bit stupid, because you’ve faced much scarier things in your life, than some asshole you owe two grand. Well, some asshole you owe two grand that you love deeply that hates you deeply because you are in some part responsible for not taking care of his brother—

Carmen doing your side work was unintentionally cruel, honestly. You don’t have anywhere for your brain to go but him. Don’t have anyone to talk to, or anything to do. Richie can tell and whether you want him to or not; he knows what you need. He repeats himself, walking off with the mug. “I’ll get you your list.”

He knows what you need. Something to do. Something to fix, for someone. Not fix someone. People’s princess. Still failed Mikey, no matter how hard you tried.

Sprite, grenadine, vodka, lime, maraschino cherries. Dirty Shirley. Something to do. Just focus on something to do.

You miss the naivety of wanting something to do. Three hundred guests versus one bartender without a barback is a layer of hell that Dante forgot to specify in his Inferno.

“What can I fix for you, ma’am?!” You’ve got to yell every sentence to get anything intelligible over the music and the cacophony of conversations.

There is an overlap of voices from every single woman crowding around your bar, despite the fact that you were definitely making explicit eye-contact with just one of them. You lean over the counter to hear her alone. She blinks, when you get in her face.

“What are we?”

You cannot stop the snort, but you’re pretty sure she didn’t hear it, music's too loud to hear anything. Syd’s a fucking oracle. “We’re fucked. What can I get for you?”

“Lemon drop shot?” Of course. It’s New York.

“Comin’ right up—”

The crowd of women interrupt you, and each other. “Oh, make that two!” “Make that three!” “Wait what are we making?”

Who the fuck is we? They’re more than welcome to get behind the bar with you. You’d take anyone, at this point.

“Lemon drops, babe!” “Oh—Oh, we doin’ lemon drops?” “Let’s just say ten and be safe!”

Of course.

It’s a lot of that, on repeat. But it’s better than the ones that want one very specific brand of scotch with their soda, because at least you can make huge batches for these ones— Does no one know how to fucking act around an open bar anymore? You get a vodka cran and you fuck off. You really need to start telling people you don’t know how to make bellinis.

Working alone is hard, because you can tell when you turn your back to make drinks, and aren’t able to take twenty more orders at the same time, that everyone’s real fucking annoyed with you. You have tried splitting your cells to become a second person, didn’t work. You’re constantly spinning around to accommodate people, and it’s getting fucking nauseating. And you’re usually patient, but the questions are getting just as mind-numbing.

“Can I get a uh… A negroni… Sbagliato? With prosecco?” “Sbagliato means prosecco is in it, sweetheart.”

“Do you do hurricane shots?” “I’m happy to slap you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, so it’s open bar?” “Yeah.” “So, I don’t have to tip, either?” “Well— It’s appreciated— Oh, and you’ve already walked away. Okay.”

It’s a lot of that, on repeat.

You see from twenty feet away, amidst the crowds, Uncle Jimmy walking towards your bar, and when he waves all friendly, he sees your glower, and opts to turn in the other direction. Smart man. No wonder he’s successful.

Richie swings by your bar, waiting at the corner, where the line hasn’t congregated. You don’t need to be shaking this martini for as long as you are, but it’s a good way to look like you’re working when you’re just trying to talk to Richie. He presents his serving tray to you. “Tiny quiche?”

You open your mouth, hands full with your shaker. He gets the point, stabbing a toothpick into the appetizer and shoving it in your mouth. Oh God, food is beautiful. Food is what sustains. You could write a full book of poetry right now about why food is everything. Well, not everything. You’re still in hell.

“Richie, I’m dying, your job can’t be that important, come be barback.” You pour out the martini. You attempt to open the jar of olives by yourself, when you struggle, Richie puts his tray down and grabs the jar from you.

Thankfully for your pride, he’s also struggling with it. Plus, it gives you time to annihilate the tray of quiches. He shakes his head, his job is important, allegedly. “You want me to starve guests?”

“Ideally? Yes.” You ignore the dirty looks you get from eavesdropping patrons. He hands you the opened jar. You take a toothpick from his tray, since you’re already out of yours, pierce an olive, toss it in the martini, and pass it to someone— Quite frankly, there’s every chance that’s not the guy that ordered the dirty martini, but he takes it, so who gives a fuck.

Richie sighs, he does want to help. “I’ll ask kitchen if they can cut someone.”

Thank fucking God. “Ask Marcus, he’s got mixology experience or some shit.” You remember being occasionally impressed by his verbiage— At the very least, he knows what stuff is back here, and that’s enough for you.

Richie just shakes his head, lips in a line, when you mention Marcus. A universal sign that something has gone horrifically wrong. You furrow your brows, immediately worried, leaning forward. “What happened?”

“Excuse me! What’s it take to get a long-island iced tea around here? This open bar is not very open!”

You and Richie both grimace, at the thick Jersey accent on this woman waving her hand hysterically at your bar. He gives you a nod, already taking his empty tray and starting to walk back to the kitchen. “I’ll ask.”

You turn your body to the woman, but head still to Richie. “Don’t ask. Tell.”

Not even five minutes pass, before you get a barrage of texts, from multiple people, all at once. You watch them flood in on the notification screen of your phone laying on the counter, while shaking up a cosmo, this time.

From Marcus, worrying. ‘sorrysorysorrybakkingemergencymbmmbmb’

From Syd, concerning. ‘couldn’t stop him lmk if it’s bad’

From Richie, alarming. ‘yk how to call your dog right’

But it all makes sense, when Carmen comes up to your bar, removing his apron. “You need a barback?”

Hair is normal. Not at its best, not how you taught him, but it’s better than before. He smells excessively like you; like accidentally used half the bottle levels like you. Maybe not an accident. Don’t read into it, too much— They’re almost certainly the only travel sized bottles he had on hand. Of course he’d take them. He smells like Old Spice, too, though. Don’t read into it. He looks tired. You knew he would. You’ve watched his location, every day. By the time you go to bed each night, he’s only just left The Bear. He deserves to feel tired, he was a fucking asshole, and you’re glad your cat ate just short of all of his flowers.

But you brought in the plate, the next morning. You cleaned it, and then hid it in the back of your dishwasher. You wanted it to be safe, you also just didn’t want to look at it or think about it or have it exist in your mind, at all. That’s half the reason you couldn’t let it perch outside your window anymore. Taunting you. He’s a piece of shit, but you can feel it in your chest; the care you cannot get rid of. The desire to ask are you okay? Have you been sleeping? How are you? How’s your week been? Want a hug? Have you been playing Connections? What did I do wrong? Did you need me? Did anything break? Did you break?

You missed him. Was the radio silence relieving? Yes. Preferably, you’d never acknowledge each other for the rest of your lives besides an eventual wire transfer. Preferably, he’d stay in the back of your dishwasher for the rest of your life. But God, you missed him, this week. You’ll probably miss him for the rest of your life. Is that toxic? You’re working on it. No you’re not… He just made every space easier to breathe in, kept a light on, for you. Not at the end, but he did before. Before he figured out that he hates you.

It’s a thing that everyone says about you, that you bring ease, and whether you can confirm or deny that, who’s to say— But you know Carmen does it for you. Lights up a room for you. And you might be alone in that feeling, but that’s okay with you. Or it was. It was, before he figured out he should hate you.

Oh, shit, you’ve been staring at him in silence for way too long. It’s hard to know how to navigate this. You don’t know how to feel, so you don’t know how to act either. It’s all a weird state of limbo that you desperately want to get out of, but don’t want to do any of the work required to do so. What do you do with your hands? Your body? Your voice? Are you supposed to be funny and nice still? Christ, just say something. What’d he ask, again? Can’t remember.

“Uh…” Still can’t remember, but— “What’s happening with Marcus?”

He seems to falter, slightly, but he comes into your bar, oh right, barback. You needed a barback. He exchanges his kitchen apron for a bar apron. Not used to seeing him wear all black. You wish you could enjoy it. Wish you could say it’s cool watching him act as one of your professions. He answers, as he ties the strings around his waist. “Uber dropped their wedding cake.”

Fuck whatever tension you two have. You nearly fold over in shock. The current track on the speakers fades out, right as you yell back, “They dropped their fucking wedd—!?”

With haste, Carmen puts the palm of his hand over your mouth. Knife tattoo hand. Oh, he missed being this close to you. Not the point here, though. “Shhhhhhh…!”

You relax, he removes his hand, you’re annoyed that you wish he didn’t. You whisper, though it’s still screeching in tone. “They dropped their fucking wedding cake?”

He nods, combing his hair back with his hand. Knife tattoo hand. It’s making your shampoo waft. You both notice it. He stops. “Marcus is remaking one, now.”

“From scratch?” You were right to be so worried; Richie was right to make the face he did. Carmen tilts his head back and forth. “Box mix that he’s finessing—”

You finish the sentence with him, “—Because he’s Marcus.” The king of doing too much, especially when there’s no time for it. It’s his best and worst trait.

He nods, smiling just slightly, but not the typical smile you get from him. Timid. “Yeah, so he’s locked in, but I’m here.”

Simple sentence, but it still schisms your brain. You cannot help but feel a distrust of it. “Shouldn’t you be running the back, though?” Keeping his kitchen in order? Being the Exec in his head?

He shakes his head. “They run a tight ship without me just fine.” The first lesson you gave to him, that that’s a good thing. Is this conversation hitting specific pain points on purpose as a punishment from God or is this just how all your conversations are going to feel, from now on?

Probably both. You nod. “Okay.” You do need a barback.

“This is so cute, girl, and I love love but I’m gonna need that Cosmo like yesterday.” Why did this woman have to say love? That would already be terrible if you were good right now. Carmen’s probably not the type of guy to say the L word for like several months anyways. You’re not even dating anyways— Or weren’t? Can you use past-tense on something that never was?

You hand her the Cosmo, and you both pretend you never heard her.

Running bar with Carmen makes your life infinitely easier, though albeit tenser. He hasn’t done this before, but he’s watched previous bar staff from the sidelines— And one of his best traits is how quick he catches on to things. He’s not confident enough to mix drinks, but everything else, he does just fine.

“Behind.” There’re occasional autopilot moments that make you laugh, though. He snaps back into his body, when you do, moving next to you. He tilts his head, “What, you don’t say behind?”

You shrug, and it feels normal, for a second. “Professionals probably do, I’ve never worked in a place that does, though.”

“But what about when you’re holdin’ shit?” You allow yourself to feel normal, for a second. It is a delight to teach him something about your work. You continue to make drinks and hand off orders, all while you both speak. It reminds you of the domestic flow you were both so used to doing. That was so easy for you both to fall into. It’s nice that it somehow hasn’t gone away.

“So, you know when you’re in the kitchen, or here, behind bar, you get like, really fucking hot?” Don’t let that entendre stay doubled— “Like sweaty?”

“Mhm?”

You hold onto your chilled shaker, stepping behind him, “So, we don’t say behind, we—” and press it just under the back of his neck. He shivers, immediately, full shock running through his system. “Do that.”

“Christ!”

You want to enjoy the moment, but you can’t help but remember him calling you a modern-day saviour. You try to push it down, but the warmth you were starting to feel tones down, quite a bit. You manage to keep him from noticing, manage to keep the smile on. “What, don’t like it? It’s nice!”

“Think it’s a safety concern, f’sure.”

“Call OSHA.” You touch the shaker to his face, before going to pour it. He laughs. Actually laughs. You wish that made you feel good, still. And somewhere, in some corner of yourself, it still does. But not like it did before.

Soon enough, you two get a second of reprieve, as Vinnie’s Best Man gets up to do his speech, or whatever. He uses a knife to clink his glass, and of course, it fucking shatters. You’re half-mad, because technically for the night, those are your glasses, but it’s too funny to actually give a shit. Plus, the Best Man gets a pass tonight, in your book, because one, he understood protocol and got a vodka cran from you, and two, his speech is forcing everyone to sit down and leave y’all the fuck alone.

“Beautiful night, beautiful couple, beautiful people— Couldn’t ask for a better weddin’ for my best friend— But let’s be honest, I didn’t think he’d be gettin’ a wedding at all— Aye! This guy Vin, amirite?”

You take this moment to halve your protein bar from Carmen. You wordlessly hand the other half to him. He shakes his head. “M’Good, you eat.”

 You shove it towards him. You know he hasn’t eaten much, you don’t know how, but you just know. “I’ve eaten twelve tiny quiches and a beef sandwich, Carm, take the fuckin’ granola.”

He breathes heavily through his nose, but he takes it. You both watch the Best Man, quietly eating your halves. He is silently overjoyed at the verbal confirmation you ate the sandwich.

“I don’t need to introduce my goddamn self, I’m sure my reputation precedes me, right? But I’m Leo, I’m my boy’s Best Man, and I just couldn’t be more honoured, y’know? We grew up together, playin’ stickball in the Bronx, and now this guy’s marryin’ one of the most wonderful women in the world? And I get to be here? Man, I love ya.”

As cranky as you’ve been all night, this really is a gorgeous wedding. More often than not, the guests are nice, it’s just that the shit ones stick out in your head like nails to be hammered. Vinnie and Mira seem like a good couple. You wonder if you’ll ever get to have a wedding like this. They commissioned one of those painters to do a live painting, too. Always wanted one of those. And they’ve got little gift bags for the guests. You’re taking notes, internally, of what you like here, what you’d want to do for your own.

You wish you and Carmen were talking, right now. Despite the fact that Leo’s voice is booming throughout the hall’s speakers, the silence between you feels deafening, because you both know that you would be talking right now, if you weren’t living in fucking limbo. You need to work. You need something to do. The ice basket is running low, refilling it will take at least two minutes and maybe holding the ice will shock your nervous system.

You grab a bag of ice from the freezer behind you both, Carmen pretends to be listening to the speech, because he doesn’t feel like he has the right to help you with the weight. You cut the bag, emptying huge chunks of ice into the basket. You ball up the plastic in your hands to throw out; you nod to Carmen. “Can you break the ice?”

He seems surprised, taking a second, before nodding, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “I owe you an apology—”

“Oh, no!” You hastily correct. “No— Yes but no— I— I meant—” You hand him the metal scooper, nodding to the clumped-up ice you just poured out. “I meant can you break the literal ice blocks?”

Carmen wishes he has dead. And you can both tell that. “Yes. Yes— Yeah, f’sure, one-hundred— Course. Heard.” You nod back, pensive, throwing the plastic bag out, staring straight ahead, trying to refocus on Leo again. You can’t.

Carmen beats the ice, softly, so as to not make a noticeable noise for the audience. After a few seconds, he returns to his point. “…I do owe you an apology, though—”

“Don’t even worry about it, Carmen.” You don’t say this. Fak does. He sidles up to the bar. Where he keeps apparating from and hearing your conversations, you’re really not sure. “I’ve got this one.”

Neither you or Carmen know what Fak thinks he’s got, here, but you’re both too intrigued or surprised to stop him. Well, Carmen does give it a fair shot, after a second, “Fak, I’m—”

“Nono—” But there’s simply no chance. “I appreciate you trying to fix my problems for me, but y’know, I can handle myself, Carmen.” …You wish that’s what Carmen said, last Friday, instead of calling himself your charity tax write-off.

Fak pivots to you, sighing, shrugging, hands up, as if you know as well as he does what the fuck he’s about to say. You can’t tell if you’re supposed to be scared right now or not. When you don’t say anything, he starts, “Alright, I guess I’m the one that's brave enough to say it, there’s some major tension here.”

Now why does Fak think he’s the one to acknowledge this. Quite frankly, why is Fak here? Is he working, too? On what exactly? You don’t remember seeing him on the plane, either. Was he a part of the road trip? Dear God, that's a nightmare third wheel. You just let out a, “Huh?”

“Oh, come on, you haven’t shown up at The Bear since last Friday—” You’re now remembering that before the fight of all fights broke out that night, Fak ran out of the kitchen. Guess no one filled him in, after. “And like, this week, when something broke—” He nods to Carmen, who grimaces, hand over his face. “Carmy told me to fix it, instead of calling you, like he’d usually.”

You know you’re not allowed to be upset about that, and yet, you really fucking are. You’re Carmen’s fucking fixer. Or were? Fuck. Christ, are you jealous of Fak now? You turn your gaze just slightly to Carmen, who’s leaning over the counter, propping his head up on his hands. “What broke?”

He answers briefly. “Expo clock.”

It was extremely apt and even more upsetting for him, the way time literally stopped, when you left. When he made you leave.

You tuck your hands in your pockets, looking back to Fak. “You fix it?”

He shrugs. “Yeah.” Carmen stands back up, opening his mouth to intercept, Fak puts a hand in front of his face. “No Carm, I’ve gotta tell her the truth…” What.

“Tony…” Neil sighs, unable to make eye contact, at this moment. “I was really harsh on you, that Friday…”

“…Huh?” The fucking degree thing? Is that what he’s talking about? You honestly can’t remember anything before Carmen, from that night.

“You don’t need to hide your pain.” He nods solemnly, “I— I’m just gonna say it… I know it’s hard to believe, but I was… jealous.”

“I know.”

He ignores that you’ve said this entirely, “I know, I know, it’s crazy. Me? Jealous? But yeah, I was really good at hiding it, but you’re just really like smart, Tony, y’know? And everyone was like— Tony can fix this— Tony can fix that— And I was holding it together, but then you were good at serving, too. And it got to me— And obviously Carmen could tell, so he stopped calling you. Trying to be a true bro.”

Oh, Fak really doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, huh? “Of course there’s like, the other obvious tension in the room—” Oh okay, so he does know— “Between us.” What.

“What’s up?” You blink, voice going high for a second. Carmen cannot stop staring at Fak, face entirely unmoving, unblinking. Neither of you are sure what emotion to feel right now. Is Leo’s speech still fucking going? You’ve completely tuned it out, if it is.

Fak gestures to the air between you two. “Well like, there’s obviously a really intense sort of rivals to romance dynamic happening here…”

What.

“And like,” He raises his hands, in defense— Of what exactly? You couldn’t be less sure. “I could totally see that happening, in the future.”

It takes everything in you, to just hold your lips closed together. You have to bite down on your top lip, to not scream laugh in his face. “For sure, man.”

He nods, continuing, “But right now, I just don’t think I’m ready to take what you’re giving, y’know?” Holy shit, wait, is that how Carmen feels? Is that what the fuck is going on in his head? “Just not ready for all—” He gestures to you in general. “This.”

“Little harsh.” You tilt your head. “Fuckin’ cool it, Fak.” Carmen barks, in tandem with you. Oh, he’s upset. He wasn’t set on his emotions, this entire time, but he seems to have now settled in the upset category.

“Right.” Fak nods. “And so, I’m sorry I can’t be that for you… And I know it’s gonna take time to recover, but please come back to The Bear, when you’re ready. You’re… You’re a better repairman than me. We need you.”

You put a hand over your mouth, to cover your shit eating grin, trying your best to compose yourself and look sad. The best way out of this is to just agree with him. It’d take far too much energy to clarify everything for Fak. You’re nodding too much. “…Yeah, y’know, Fak… I will consider that. All those words you said? I’m gonna… Gonna really take all of it to heart, dude. I really appreciate… The directness— Y’know, that takes… Strength, man.”

“Thank you.” He nods. “Still friends?”

You did not realize you were even friends to start. And not in the insecure way, this time. You nod. “For sure, dude.”

You and Carmen both watch him walk away, in perplexed silence. Carm’s the first to break it. “…Was that anything—” “Obviously fucking not.”

He’s going to reply something witty in response, and it’s going to make you both feel like everything’s okay, again, but then he seems to see something that scares him straight. He turns to the back of the bar, aimlessly grabbing bottles, for no reason. Literally no reason, everyone sat for the speeches, what’s he doing—?

“You still serving?” Older man, oval glasses. He stands in front of your bar. Ah. Kinda rude of him, maybe that’s why Carmen’s giving the cold shoulder to this guy? Whatever. You'll serve him. Just because you're Chicago's Kindest doesn't mean everyone else has to be.

“Yessir, what can I fix for you?”

“Manhattan with bourbon?”

You salute, “Aye aye.” And get to mixing the drink. You’re pretty sure Carmen must know this guy, because he’s already set out the bourbon, vermouth, and angostura. It doesn’t take long to fix the drink.

When you go to hand it to the man, he seems to notice the mop of blond curls behind you. “Aye, Carmen? Jimmy told me you’d be workin’ tonight.”

A small, tentative, meek wave from Carmen. He sniffs. “Yeah. Hi, Uncle Lee.”

“Oh.” Is all you can say. Pulling the drink away from his hand, as Uncle Lee reaches for it. “You’re Uncle Lee?”

“My reputation precedes me?” He chuckles, nodding.

Carmen comes up beside you, and witnesses a smile from you that he’s never seen from you, and ideally hopes will never be directed at him. It’s the slowness of it, it’s a smile, but you’re doing it purely to bare your teeth.

“It sure does.” Give him a chance, it’s been four years, give him a chance. “I was a friend of Mikey’s.”

He fails the chance. “Ah… I see, friend, ya did a little—” He taps the side of his nose, sniffing. “Together?”

He really fucking fails the chance. Your smile grows, painfully so. The apples of your cheeks so high they practically close your eyes for you. You laugh a deeply fake laugh. “Hahaha, yeah, yeah, that’s exactly what we used to do. Uncle Lee.”

“Oh!” You tilt your wrist quickly, pouring the bourbon Manhattan in the bar sink. “Ah, fuck. Hand slipped.”

Lee is a bit taken aback. “Really—?”

“Really.” You repeat. Putting the glass down. “And y’know, I could remake that for you, but I dunno if you wanna trust my shaky junkie hands.”

Holy fuck. Carmen has always been great at keeping his reactions hidden, and still is, so Uncle Lee cannot tell how out of character this is, of you. You’re nice, you don’t bite— Or Carmy didn’t think you did, because of the amount of grace you gave him, last Friday.

“Lee, I’m gonna level with you.” You cross your arms, smile fading, but there’s still that venomous lilt in your voice. “I’ve been thinking for the last, I dunno, two years, what I’d say to you, if I had the displeasure of seeing you.”

There’s a pile of forks behind your bar, that you’d asked Richie for, just in case this situation came to a head. Just in case this fucking idiot came by. But it just doesn’t feel right, now. Doesn't feel right to leap over the counter and stab him in the neck with a fork. Though you've imagined it, and you still actively are.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod, looking around the venue. “But we’re at this beautiful wedding, and Vinnie and Mira don’t deserve to have their reception ruined by us causing a scene.” You gesture to the air between you, almost comical.

He shrugs, “Better than Mikey, in that regard, then.” You know what he’s referring to, despite not being there.

You nod, smiling real big now, really baring your teeth, now. “His fuckin’ house, Lee.”

“I could have your ass fired, y’know.” “So do it.”

You lean forward, elbows on the counter. “I’m not getting paid for this. Please, get me fired. Snitch to Uncle J, c’mon, fire me. I’m delighted to get cut. Do it.”

After what feels like eons of a silent stare down, Uncle Lee throws a fake punch. Carmen’s the only one that flinches, immediately rearing his own fist back, stopping short when Lee does.

You’re still just coy, elbows on the counter. Lee scoffs, “Cokehead.” Of course.

“Yessir.” You just lightly shake your head, standing up straight again, smiling, amused, delighted, even. “That’s me. That’s who I am.” It’s not, but there’s no point in arguing with him— Especially when you agreeing just seems to piss him off more.

You’ve given Lee nothing to work with, to insult you, so it takes him a moment to generate something. “You’re—”

You don’t let him get it out, putting a hand up for him to give it a rest. “Lee, I’m not startin’ a scene, it’s a gorgeous wedding.”

“Oh, how grown of you—” “But, if you wanna have a scene, just wait in the parking lot.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You really think—” “I do. I do think, Lee.”

You lean forward, again, shrugging, speaking nonchalant, speaking with your hands, casually. “I wanna make it so clear, for you, too. I’m not gonna crack my knuckles, not gonna make some empty threats, not gonna scream in your face— I’m not gonna tell you I’m gonna kill you or anything like that. Because obviously, I wouldn’t do that.”

You nod, slowly, methodically, clearly. “What I am gonna say, is that I have been a bartender on and off since I was twenty-one. I was an E-M-T, for three years— All in our beautiful city of Chicago, Illinois. The sheer volume of geriatric white guys I have had to pull to the concrete in a full nelson in both professions— Insurmountable, Lee. So again, to be, so fucking clear, Lee— If I see you outside, I’m taking you to the fucking pavement, and I’m not getting off.”

Uncle Lee’s got no comeback, for this, but he’d be dead in the ground before he just lets someone have the last word. This is why Uncle Jimmy is more successful. “Oh, I’m sure you fuckin’ would.”

You grin. God, those forks are tempting. Resist. You keep your hands busy by grabbing a maraschino cherry from it's jar behind your bar to snack on. “Enjoy your night, Lee.”

“You’re a real fuckin’ bi—” A fork flies over his shoulder, clattering behind him. Not from you, from Carmen.

He speaks for you. “Enjoy your night, Uncle Lee.”

It feels good to be backed. Carmen’s here, and he’s on your team. You tack on, waving goodbye to the fucker, “Back lot, Uncle Lee.”

Lee pivots his gaze to Carmen, he rolls his eyes, disappointed. “Alright, Donna.”

Carmen goes for another fork, you stop his hand, holding it there, for a second. The metal clatters behind the counter. Lee’s pleased enough with the provocation. Men like him don’t leave until they’ve won something in their heads. He leaves, on his way to the punch bowl, since he’s determined he’s not getting shit from the bar tonight. You and Carmen just watch him, like prey, making sure he leaves without looking back.

“You’ve got teeth.” Carmen’s first to speak, cleaning a glass, both of you looking straight ahead. You nod.

“I do.”

“You don’t bite much.”

You shrug. “Try not to.”

Carmen considers the fact that what he wants to say would mean sticking his foot in his mouth. He then considers the fact that nothing he could say now will ever be worse than what he said then. He keeps rubbing away at a perfectly shining glass.

“You didn’t bite me.”

“I didn’t.” You nod, and your body goes on autopilot, as you start making a drink no one’s ordered. Just need something to do. “I couldn’t.”

He doesn’t like that answer. “I deserved it.”

“I deserved it, too.” You’re not a big fan of your own answer, either. But you can’t say it’s not true. You deserved it. Just some failure leech trying to reattach yourself to people through merry good deeds, as if they’d add up to fucking anything—

“No, you didn’t.” He pivots to you, tone inarguable. He puts the glass down. It’s a lowball, you need a lowball, you grab it from him.

“Do you like cognac or vodka?” You ignore his words, but you look him in the eyes. You regret it.

He lets you get away with it, because he is absolutely not the one allowed to lead the conversation, here. He did enough bulldozing, before.

“I dunno, I don’t really drink much.” You squint, you’ve seen his apartment. He clarifies. “Other than wine n’ beer.”

You nod. You opt for cognac. He watches you, for a moment, before asking. “What’re you—”

You’re already finished, by this point, sliding the glass over to him. “Black lavender latte. Cognac n’ coffee liqueur. If it’s too strong, let me know, I can add more milk.”

“Thank you, Chef.” Is all he can think to say. He takes a sip. It’s far behind in his long list of regrets, but certainly one of them in the way he spoke to you, is that there’s a strong chance he will never have a mixologist as talented as you working at The Bear.

“Hmm.” You hum, not watching him drink it, because you won’t be able to handle either reaction— You won’t be able to handle disgust nor pleasure. You never want to look at Carmen again. He’s also all you want to see. This sucks. You suck. Carmen sucks.

“Thank you for the coffee earlier, too.” You’re overjoyed at the verbal confirmation he drank it.

“Figured you’d need one.”

“I did.” He thinks about it, and decides to take the bullet. “Needed yours.”

Your breath hitches, and he can’t tell whether or not that’s a good thing. He doesn’t get the chance to ask, as a meek and overly sweaty man comes up to your bar. There are bar stools at your counter, though they’ve been tucked far under it to keep the flow of traffic moving. But the man points down to the stool, silently asking. You nod.

“You can sit, sir.”

He’s delighted. He sits. “Sorry, I’m not gonna sit long, I just uh— Just—” He turns around pointing to the Maid of Honour, who’s just gotten on the hot mic for her speech. “I uhm, it’s— Usually the bar is empty, when uh, when people are talking.”

“That they are.” You nod, smile soft. “Can I get anything for you, or d’you just wanna sit? No shame in that.”

“I— I, uh, if it’s not a bother— I was just wonderin’ if uhm— Totally fine, if it’s— If it is— Do uhm, do you— Do you do mocktails?”

Carmen watches you grow ten times softer, in demeanor. It’s wonderful, how you’re able to flip on a dime. It’s wonderful what you’re willing to give to people, when they deserve it. You nod. “Yeah, sir. What’s your drink?”

“Oh— I— Anything’s fine, really.” He plays with the loose strings on the cuff of his left sleeve.

You tilt your head, recognizing his nervousness. “If it’s not too personal, sir, are you…” You debate the best way to say it. “Taking twelve steps?”

He looks scared, initially, to be caught; but then he looks at your face, and he knows he has nothing to be worried about. He nods. “One— Two months, two weeks, one day.”

“That’s huge.”

He shrugs. “It’s a start.”

“A start is huge.” You emphasize, and he nods, because that’s inarguable. “What was your drink before? I can make a mocktail of that— Or maybe you’d prefer somethin’ total opposite?”

“Oh! Yeah, I uh, I liked uh, old-fashioneds, but you can’t really make those without whiskey—”

“Yeah, you can.” You’re already grabbing your shaker. “You just use barley tea. I can do that— If you want that.”

He thinks on it, for a second. Debates whether nostalgia is good or not. “Yeah, yeah I’d like that.”

While you work on it, the guy feels enough confidence, bestowed by you, to tell you about himself. “I liked sitting. That was the thing I liked about drinking. The sitting and the talking and the feeling good about it.”

“I hear that.” You watch the tea steep, nodding. “Reason why the phrase is ‘takes the edge off’.”

Carmen has to turn around. He’s listening intently, but he has to turn around. Again, he’s pretty good at hiding his tells, but you’re pretty good at reading them. And you’d be able to tell his flat expression is the equivalent of being absolutely fucking bug eyed on anyone else. You’re a bartender. You were a paramedic. You have seen so many people, on their worst day— Seen so many people like this guy, like his brother. You have taken care of so many addicts.

The number of times he said loser or junkie to your face, and the way that that was what you always fought back on. It will not stop replaying, in Carmen’s head. The way you think that wasn’t okay, but the way he spoke about you was. It’s all just nauseating. You’re so good to everyone but you. You defend everyone but you. Carmen's almost furious about this, though he doesn't feel he has the right to be. You should've treated him like Uncle Lee. He acted exactly like Uncle Lee. 

“It can make it easier, to be at the bar, for some people, I've found.” You continue, still making conversation with the man as you stir the steeped tea into the glass, over ice. “Makes you feel normal.” Forced sobriety is definitely in the top five, of the most ostracizing human experiences.

He nods, relieved to have someone. “Most people don’t get that.”

You nod, strain out the virgin old-fashioned, and push the glass to him across the counter. “Well, I get that.”

He takes a sip of the mocktail, it’s perfectly nostalgic in a way that doesn’t hurt. “Thank you.” He’s thanking you for a lot more than the drink. 

“A pleasure.” You nod. He stands up, tucking the stool back under the counter, as the speeches end. It won’t be long until the bar is crowded again, and he knows it’ll be too much, for him or you. You add. “Good luck with month three. It's a heavy one.”

“If you work it and you’re worth it.” He recites the line incorrectly on purpose, it’s an important one, but you both still laugh at it. Like an inside joke, practically. You give one quick dap, he puts a twenty in your tip jar, and walks off, with less sweat, and more spring in his step, this time. Good.

When he walks away, before guests start to stand, there’s a lull of silence. You don’t need to look at Carmen to know he has a million different thoughts, and a million more follow ups. 

“You have questions?”

“None of my business.” He sniffs, awkwardly. “Unless you want it to be.”

Why did he have to fucking say it like that. Why did he have to put the ball in your court. Carmen fucking sucks. Y’know what, no, turn it on his ass.

“Did you give the New York Exec my number?”

“No.” The reply is instant. He doesn’t get thrown by the topic change in the slightest. You were pretty sure you knew the answer, but the speed of it is still a little surprising. Like it wasn’t something that was ever up for debate.

“What’d you say to him, then?”

This is when he looks embarrassed, just slightly. This part was up for debate, seemingly. “We—”

“Everyone, please stay in your seats for just a moment, our wonderful catering crew will be coming around to serve you!” Says… Vinnie’s mom? Mira’s mom? They all kind of blend together. It’s not long after this, that Syd rolls by with Marcus and a cart of food. She’s starting with you, despite the fact that you’re not a guest. Sweetie.

“Salmon or chicken?”

“Just gimme both, we’ll split it.” You nod your head to Carmen. “Best of both worlds.”

And then, the game of eye contact conversation ensues. A game that Carmen nor Marcus can comprehend.

‘I asked you’ Syd glares.

‘You can’t just starve him out’ You deadpan.

‘Who said?’

“Syd.” You say aloud. She sighs, handing you both plates, mumbling ‘whatevers’, walking off to serve the actual guests. No time to bicker. You look to Marcus, worried. “Heard about the cake, how’s it goin?”

He shrugs but he’s smirking, proud and bad at hiding it, he hands you a paper plate with a little chocolate cupcake. The floral frosting job is simple, and you know if he had more time, you’d probably be looking at a full realistic rose, but it’s still beautiful. “You tell me. Taste test.”

“Lil sacrilege, to do dessert before dinner, but okay.” You grab a fork from your pile, digging in. “Oh fuck,” You have to laugh. “Marcus— You stress me the fuck out, how do you have time to make shit this good?”

It’s a built-in habit for you, to hand your fork to Carmen. He gives you a moment to realize or pull back. You should but you don’t. He takes it, thankful, and tries the cupcake for himself.

“S’fire, Chef.” He points the fork, emphatically. “‘Specially with what you had.”

“Thank you, Chef.” Marcus nods.

You tilt your head, curious, “Do you even have time to test, though? If this sucked you wouldn’t have time to remake the full cake anyways, would you?”

“No.” He answers bluntly, and you both snort. He adds, “Just wanted to make sure you got dessert, over here.” Just wanted to make sure you ate something.

“Marcus…” You pout, overcome by the sweetness of the sweets Chef. You’ve gotta return the favour. “Gin and juice still your go-to?”

“You tryna get me fucked up at work?”

You shrug, grinning. “Are you tryna get fucked up at work?”

He’s going to say yes, but then he pauses, and looks to his boss. Looks to Carmen. Ah, you don’t run his kitchen— Get that through your head. Of course, Marcus can’t just drink—

Carmen shrugs, smiling, “Are you tryna get fucked up at work, Chef?”

Marcus claps his hands, grinning. “Yessir!”

That makes you feel a little lighter. You nod. “Gin and juice, comin’ up.”

You pour out the pineapple juice— Marcus’ preferred juice, of course you remembered. And Marcus leans over the bar, to watch you stir in the gin, even if it’s just a stupid simple drink, the guy loves to learn.

He asks, “How much they payin’ you, tonight?”

You shake your head, “Tips. Nothin’ else.”

Carmen’s ears burn, at that, while he evenly divides and plates out the salmon and chicken plates so you both have a little of everything. If things were normal you could just eat off each other's plates.

Marcus tilts his head, just as surprised. “You in debt, too?”

“Just to Mikey.” You smile, shaking your head. “No, I’m doin’ this in exchange for Uncle J getting me out of work early, a couple weeks back.”

“That’s it?”

“I was in a rush.” You shrug, measuring out the simple syrup. “Got like thirty missed texts from Syd, I thought someone fuckin’ died, didn’t have time to bargain.”

“Wait—” Marcus cannot help but grin, nearly laughing, at the ridiculousness of it, at how bad you got fucked over, by your own permission. “You’re here because you… left work… to go deliver Nat’s baby?”

“Yessir.” Are you fucking serious? Carmen can’t help but stare at the side of your head, for just a few seconds, before going back down to the plates. You’re in this hellscape of a bar, three states from your home, because you were delivering his niece? You did that for them already, and promised yourself for this, in order to do that?

“You know me,” You hand Marcus his glass, and you shouldn’t make the joke, but you can’t help yourself. “Modern day Christ.”

Marcus stifles down his snort, turning his head away from Carmen, to look at the ground. You do the same. There is something painful, about it all, for everyone; but Carmen can’t say that pain isn’t deserved, on his end, so he takes it. You’re allowed to joke about it all you want, if that’s what it takes for you to feel lighter.

A timer goes off on Marcus’ phone. He takes a sip from his gin and juice, nodding in approval, “Oh, shit— Alright, cool times up—” He lifts the glass to you, you hurriedly get the point and grab a random empty cup to clink with him, cheers.

“I’ll be back.” He says. Doubtful, you think. But you nod and wave him off nonetheless.

“If T needs a drink, tell her to take five.” You haven’t seen her tonight, but you realize yourself, again, once you say this. Not your kitchen. “Uh— If that’s, that’s okay—”

“Tell Chef to take a break if she needs it, we haven’t seen her.” Says Carmen, beside you. We. Don’t read into it. He hates you, and you hate him, actually. Carmen sucks, and so do you.

Marcus nods, and makes his mad dash off as a tsunami of guests that have just gotten their plates decide now that they want a drink with their meal. Sonofabitch.

God, you need a break. It’s really hitting you, and your stomach. As full as everyone’s tried to keep you, you really need to just sit down and have your fucking plate. Working behind a bar is a nightmare on the feet and back— Your earrings feel heavy, and your bracelets feel like handcuffs. It’s just all too much, without a break. You need a nap and maybe a thirty-minute session of just staring at a wall.

But the tsunami.

Carmen watches your side profile, and thinking back in his head, the collage of memories forming your face— He’s never seen you genuinely fatigued before. He’s seen you in the middle of the night, he’s seen you caught off guard, seen you distressed— But you’ve never really been one to ask for a break. It’s always yes of course it’s done, with you. It’s your best and worst trait.

As the crowd closes in, and your face morphs into a smile, ready to serve, Carmen claps his hands together, calling out to the sea. “Ey, sorry everyone, we’re just gonna take a quick thirty, alright? Union mandated.”

There is no such thing as a Bartender’s Union, you and Carmen very well know that. You’re about to call it off and say it’s fine before someone can throw an empty glass at your head or something, but instead, a scrawny but wide built, deeply New York Italian man, at the front of the crowd nods.

And as he nods, the crowd groans. He looks deeply offended by this. He turns to his fellow guests. “Where do y’all get off? We fought for those thirty-minute breaks, you fucks!” This quiets them pretty quickly. “We can live with the fuckin’ punch bowl for thirty minutes, c’mon.”

Carmen gets close enough to whisper to you, but far enough that it’s still not personal. Far enough that he still hates you. “Most of the family does or did service work. Say ‘union mandated’ and you can do anythin’”

You smile, watching the crowd dissipate, you crack a joke, because that’s probably what you’re supposed to do. “Union mandated… Murder?”

“Revolt, y’mean?” “Is that an offer?” “I’d ride for you.”

It’s supposed to be light and fun, but you can’t stop yourself, you can’t play the part and it comes out. “Would you?”

That one hurts. It all hurts, but that one really gets Carmen. That you’d have genuine reason to have pause about his dedication to you. Not your fault, his.

You grab your plate from his side of the counter, embarrassed by your instinctual prod. “Sorry.”

He’s not embarrassed by his. “Stop apologizing.”

There’s a heavy silence, before Carmen adds, “I’m supposed to be fuckin’ apologizing.”

There are no more interruptions. Fak isn’t going to come by, patrons are leaving you be, the staff is either helping Marcus or serving food. There is nothing left, to interrupt you two. This is going to happen. Christ, why does Never Let Me Down Again have to be playing right now? That’s not a fucking wedding song. This is too dramatic and simultaneously awkward and clunky and bad. There is no somethings left for you to do. There is nothing left to do, but talk. Nothing left to do but escape the void, ideally together. Please let it be together. You hate to admit it, but you want it to be together.

There is no good place to sit. So, you pick up your plate, and one of the many forks from your pile. With a sigh, you crouch down, and slide yourself underneath the counter, sitting with your legs folded, so Carmen can join you. You nod to him, to let him know that he can in fact join you.

He does. You take a few bites, in silence, before he breaks it.

“I didn’t mean a fuckin’ word.”

“It’s okay if you did.” You can’t look up from your plate. You deserved it.

He says your name, with a severity, to it. “—I didn’t mean a fucking word.”

“Then why’d you say it?”

“I—” Despite rehearsing what he wanted to say, and having ample stage to say it, he does not know how to say any of it, anymore. “I was like, like, jealous? But not in the— Not in the normal way.”

“Normal way?”

“Like, I didn’t— Well I did— But I like—” He puts his fork down, “I saw you as competition.”

You don’t know what to say, and so he keeps going. “I saw you like… Like being so perfect at everything, and being so… Being so what everyone needed, and you being there, and and— I felt so… the way you can just do that— Like— Like you can just be you and it just works. And I just fucking can’t.”

A talent you share with his brother. A talent Carmen envied in Mikey, and thus, envies in you.

“And then I got so… weird about that thought. Like you being you is— You’re for everyone. And I got this idea in my head that…” He cringes, trying to find better wording in his head for it, and he can’t. “That you were for me.”

“But you’re not for me—” “Ouch.” “—Not what I meant.”

He thanks you, internally, for being willing to add levity, right now. “I lo— I like you, so much. And I don’t want you to change. If you were like…” He half gestures to himself, which you’re not a big fan of the deprecation, but you let it slide. “Cold, and not for anyone, you wouldn’t be… you.”

Carmen realized as much, watching you tonight. Watching you interact with full strangers to long time friends. If you were callus, you wouldn’t be you. If you didn’t love his family as much as he did, he wouldn’t have attached himself to you, so quickly. He loves the way that you love. The way that you can’t turn it off. It’s not that Carmen isn’t special. It’s that you are so fucking special. He’s fucking stupid for not connecting those dots, earlier.

He picks up his fork again, needing to do something with his hands. Your brows remain furrowed, as you try to walk back how he spiraled from what and where. 

“So, you just wanted to take me down a peg?”

He shakes his head. “It— I— With Mikey, I— I saw some shit that made me think that I was just… fillin’ a gap, or you were just being so good to me out of like… Guilt.” He chews down on his salmon. “And I couldn’t find your fuckin’ invoice, so I just kept drilling into my head that I was just… Charity.”

“You’re not charity.” You’re quick to refute.

“You didn’t fail Mikey.” So is he.

Oh Christ. You nod, but you don’t believe it. “You weren’t wrong to say it.” You have to put your plate down. “I— I don’t see you like I saw Mikey, at all. But I do…” You trail off, just looking at him has you tearing up.

He leaves home so early. He comes home so late. He looks so tired. Gaunt. Has he been eating? Did he light his oven on fire again? Remember how he looked in the freezer. Remember how Mikey looked in the freezer? Remember how they are so so different. They are so different but you still can’t stop connecting every fragment and taking it as a sign and worrying so fucking much, so fucking paranoid—

“Do what?” He swallows his last bite of chicken, and you can’t stop looking at him and fuck you just can’t hold it back, this time. You were doing so good about this. This isn’t even the point of the conversation— Well, kind of. Just breathe.

As your eyes begin to water, he sets his plate aside on the floor, reaching out immediately, worried, immediately. He pauses, hand floating in the air. Hesitating. “Fuck—Can I?”

Eyes barely open, you nod. He’s quick to take your plate from your hands, set it aside, and hug you there. It’s awkward, underneath a bar counter, half sitting, half crouching, grappling you. Carmen does not wish to be anywhere else.  

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and babble, unable to hold back a fear that’s been long standing, since the day you met him.

“Sometimes you remind me of Mikey so much and I get so scared and I just— Fuck, I just— Please don’t kill yourself, Carmen.” His arms wrap around just a bit tighter, as do yours. “I know that’s selfish—”

“It’s not.” Mumbled, to your neck. Skin to skin isn’t really the focal point, here, but there is a lurking part of his subconscious fearing that he will never be able to hug you like this, again. Never be your rock. “I won’t.”

It’s silent, for a minute. You believe him. He holds you there, and you believe him.

“Why did you think all that? That you were filler?” You pull back, just a bit, to look at his face. “Did I do something to make you feel like that?”

“No— God no. You’re—” He swallows. It feels stupid now, to even say how his fucking tantrum started, you had it so much worse, in your head. Why didn’t you tell him? “I was looking for your invoice, and—”

“I forgot the booths, by the way.” You recall the shoddy invoice you wrote. It’s a stupid time to interrupt, but as you slowly grow more comfortable, inches from his face, it feels like the time to be stupid. “And taxes. I owe you something more like eighteen-seventy.”

“You don’t owe me shit.”

“I’m paying back a Berzatto, somehow.”

“Where’d that money come from?”

“Where’d your tirade come from?”

He swallows again, getting back to the point. “I found a folder. Called ice chips, or something like that— But it wasn’t for ice. It was, for you.”

You look at him, genuinely perplexed for a second. Then you get it. And it makes a lot more sense, why Carmen knows you failed Mikey—Try as he might to deny it. “Oh… You found my Ice folder.”

“Fuck’s that mean?” You’re glad, honestly, that he’s never had a reason to learn what it means. It’s fair. You had to teach it to Mikey, too.

“Ice. I-C-E, Carmen. It’s an acronym.” You spell it out, slow. “In Case of Emergency. I-C-E.”

It knocks the wind out of him, immediately. He’s extra glad he’s holding onto you, because he’s starting to feel untethered. “What?”

You nod. It’s time to walk him through it. You have to tell him. “I made Mikey keep some sort of emergency stuff as a fail-safe, for when he forgot people wanted him alive.” When Carmen’s quiet, you continue. “I was in his work cabinet, I think Richie was in his bedside, you and Sug were in his wallet.”

His stomach lurches, at the idea of being the emergency his brother always had on him. “You knew he was suicidal?”

Who didn’t? You think, but don’t say, because that’s not fair. Mikey cut him out, how could he know?

“Everyone’s suicidal, when they’re trying to get sober.”

“What?”

“What?” You parrot back. It’s both your turns, to squint at the other, confused beyond belief now. How is he confused? You’re first to ask. “Carmen, what was in my ice folder?”

“Anniver— Oh my fucking God.” He unwraps himself from you, because he’s frankly too ashamed to touch you, realizing everything he misunderstood. “Oh, my fucking God.”

You let him go, though you don’t particularly want to. He’s probably realizing he’s hugging the enemy. 

“Carmen—?” “You didn’t fucking date Mikey.”

“What?!” You jump, your head hits the bottom of the base of the bar’s sink. “Fuck! Ow, no— What?!”

It’s a mess of limbs and emotions, as he grabs your head haphazardly, seeing if you’re hurt— It honestly hurts more, to be pulled around like this. “Are you o—” You don’t let him finish, grabbing at his wrists, ignoring your sore head.

“You thought I’d fuck your brother and then—What— try to fuckin’ get the whole set?” You’re cringing at the thought. This had just never come up in your mind. You would’ve set him straight, if it did. It was way worse in his head. Why didn’t he tell you? “I— Carmy, babydoll, are you fucking insane?”

You say nice pet names, when you’re perplexed. You’ve got a pattern of doing so. He also has no comeback for this, completely mum. You release his wrists. You add, again, aghast. “How old do you think I am?”

“Ah— As old as Syd?” “Correct.” “So, twenty-eight?”

“Turning, but yeah.” You nod, like a teacher walking him through a problem. “And how old was Mikey?”

“Forty something.” “Forty-three.” “No one remembers their brothers’ age—” “Sixteen years. Carmen.”

You press your hands over your eyes. “And listen, I get at a point age is just a number but I was twenty-five when I met him and he was already fucking forty— I grew up with Muppet Babies and he grew up with Muppets. Period end of sentence.”

You sigh. This situation isn’t funny at all, but you feel a load lighten off of you significantly. And also the situation is extremely funny. It’s hard to be mad at someone this thrown off. 

“It’s just— Listen, do I think Mikey’s hot? Absolutely—”

“Alright—” He cringes, putting a hand in the air, asking you to lay off this train of thought.

“Oh, what do you want me to say ‘your genetic make-up fucking sucks actually’? No, you have a hot family, Carmen.”

“Say this in any other way but this one.”

“I did not date your brother, Carmen.” You finalize, he breathes lighter. “Think about it for like more than two seconds. Richie would’ve fuckin’ run his mouth about it immediately— Would’ve said you’re getting sloppy seconds or call me a fuckin’ homie hopper—”

“I did think that he’d say that, yeah.”

“Well fuckin’ think harder on it, next time—” “Well, what about the joint bank account?”

The most romantic paperwork he’d ever seen. It makes you pause, and Carmen’s considers a universe where you’re just the most incredible pathological liar in existence. 

“I made him make it.” You finally say, saddened just thinking about the failsafe that didn’t fucking work. “I didn’t put any money in it.”

“Why’d you want it, then?” The idea of you dating his brother quiets in his head, now he just wants to listen.

“So I could keep track of his spending and withdrawals.” You pick up your fork and twirl it around, like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Need something to do with your hands. “Mostly his withdrawals.”

Carmen thinks about it, trying to tie together the red strings in his head without asking you first. “So you could see if he was buying.”

“If he knew he was being watched, he was less inclined to deal.” You shrug and nod. “Plus I wanted him to get into the habit of keeping savings.”

“Lotta good that did.” Carmen can’t help but laugh, pitifully, at that. “Everythin’ got claimed, when he kicked it.”

You shake your head, you tuck your knees to your chest. “Not everything.”

He just looks at you, curious, waiting for you to explain. Mikey had so much credit card debt— Everything he had outside of fucking tomato cans was claimed. 

You shrug. “Not the accounts he wasn’t sole proprietor on.”

Joint bank account. It was partially your money, technically. It deferred to you. Carmen’s head just falls over, another painful realization of another thing you did, that he got completely wrong. You never gave Mikey a cent. You just gave him the protection of your name and credit score.

“Why’d you do all that, for him?”

Holy shit, he doesn’t know. Carmen doesn’t actually know you killed Mikey. You live in a world, still, where Carmen doesn’t completely rightfully blame you. You tap your fingers on your knees. Staring aimlessly. There is nothing else to do.

“Anyone ever tell you why I get called Chip?”

“I asked Richie. Said to ask you.” Carmen shakes his head, he���s a bit sick of himself, for being almost excited to get an answer about this. “Said it was personal.”

You squint and snort. “Since when does Richie give a fuck about personal?”

Carmen smiles, finally, and tucks his knees to his chest to mimic you. “Since me, I guess.”

“Good influence.” You smile, trying to distract from the nervousness, thrumming hard in your chest. Spit collects in your throat like it’s trying to choke you. “I uhm… Chippy is, uh, Mikey started calling me Chip or Chippy cause of uhm—”

You take a moment, one deep breath. A breath of air in the world before Carmen knows. A sanctimonious breath.

You pull at the long black rope chain on your neck, pulling it out from underneath your top, where it’s always been safely tucked. Not hidden necessarily, just always close to your chest. Close to your heart.

“It’s a joke, about— It’s like—”

Just do it, Chip. Let it rip.

“It’s—”

You hold out your fist for him to put his hand out and take it. Carmen gets the point and holds his palm out. You press the pendant into his hand. Holding your hand over it, for a moment, as if you could decide now that actually he shouldn’t be allowed to see this. Like there’s still an escape option, somehow.

You move your hand, you try to speak calmly, as he stares. And the text on the large round pendant stares back at him.

To Thine Own Self Be True.

“Sobriety chip.” Unity, Service, Recovery.

A proud and large 3 months, in the middle of the triangle, leers back at Carmen.

“I was— I was Mikey’s sponsor.”

Now y'all in my asks see why I was waiting, eh?

Ya caught on! Well, after thinking collectively, ya caught on. Some of you got it quick. Anyways, I shouldn't be talking about this like it's some gotcha, it's deeply painful.

A lot of hard confirmations! Fuck! This conversation was so hard to navigate, because I was like-- There's just so much for them to catch up on, and so they keep like moving forward and so I was like wait I have to go back and address this-- No. That's not how most real convos like this work, they just keep running forward, they can clarify later. Such a weird brain challenge. I was tweaking. I hope it's sensical to read? If it's not, dw, i'll walk into the sea about it.

Can you believe this chapter began with Syd/Chip/Richie? Absolutely bonkers. We started with getting ready in a hotel/taking a flight. We were so young, then. I've gotta go watch season 3, so don't send me spoilers, but please send me literally any and all thoughts about this chapter. I really fuckin-- Rah.

I'm happy with this chapter and I honestly think I will probably make a separate post sometime this week showing bits you might've missed-- So much of this was me harkening back to those first three chapters. I went back and reread them recently and I was like woah. I don't know how I did the thing where the writing style felt distant and slowly became close as they became close as characters, but I did feel like that was a thing. In the early chapters. Having to recreate that distant feeling here? Oh fuck. Brutalizing feeling.

Oh but on the more cute side, if you also see Tony as Desi, I was thinkin like a lehenga style blouse with all the work, and like, some black flared pants? and she's got big fuckin jhumkas, OF COURSE!!! OF COURSE BRO!!! But I just left it at semi-cultural so everyone could have fun, hehehe

I feel almost certain, someone's gonna be missing from this tag list, and for that, a thousand pardons, I am gonna put it in my notes app so I don't forget next time, mbmbmb, also added people that did not ask but you are so frequent that i feel like you're just forgetting to ask? idk if you wanna get taken off always just ask dw

@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @sharkluver @fridavacado @hoetel-manager @mrs-perfectly-fine

anyways, if you wanna be added send me your thoughts/analysis/diagnosis at length + ask to be added and i will ! try! sometimes they get lost and i am sorry abt that but i do try!

Next Part

[loveharlow]

SEVEN [SEASON 2] - 002 (PART 2)

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[5.9k] Trying to lay-low in Kildare doesn't go over too well and just when things were looking up, it all comes crumbling down.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of death, gun violence, mild animal cruelty, general angst

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ if you didn't wanna report my blog from part 1, you're gonna want too after this also im posting this NOW because of the whole explicit blog situation🙄 i think we all deserve a little reward. THIS SONG IS ☺️🥹😖😫 "DID YOUUUUU TAAAAKE MY LOVVE AWAYY FROM MEEEEEE?"

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

IT TOOK ALMOST ALL NIGHT TO SAIL BACK TO KILDARE, the sun just rising once again when the six of you arrived at the edge of The Marsh at the crack of dawn. You were tired and starving, the guys and girls splitting off into two separate groups to go look for food.

You, Kie, and Sarah had found some watermelons just as the sun’s heat started to break through the Kildare clouds. You and Sarah were sitting in the grass while Kie took up the space on a metal bench, each of you munching on your respective melons, fingers stained pink.

Kiara was quick to urge Sarah to catch her up on what happened, the blonde girl spilling every detail about what happened from the moment John B and her disappeared.

“The boat tipped and I honestly thought that was it, I thought that was the end. Next thing I know, we’re waking up on a boat headed to The Bahamas…” She recounted. She told you everything, from finding the gold again at Ward’s vacation home to getting shot by Rafe, to…

“I’m sorry, you got married?” Kiara exclaimed, her eyes wide as her hand paused from where it was digging into the fruit. Sarah just had a sheepish smile on her face, chewing as she nodded.

“It’s not exactly legal, but…” She trailed off, throwing a chunk of the melon into her mouth and looking at both of you. “Yeah, we did.” She admitted, smiling and chuckling in Kie’s direction before she seemed to conjure up another thought. “And *gulp* Am I crazy, or is there something going on between you and Pope?” She spoke, mouth full of watermelon.

Kiara smiled and shrugged, avoiding eye contact with the Cameron girl. “Maybe...” She said, squinting her eyes as she looked out in front of her. “I’ve come to a couple of…realizations, recently, I guess.” She said under her breath, eyes peering at you for the shortest of moments, so swiftly that Sarah didn’t catch it and you barely did yourself.

“That’s not a no.” Sarah egged on, still eating. The three of you fell into silence for a few passing moments, the only sounds being the birds flying by and the chewing of fruit before Sarah spoke up once more, this time her questions aimed at you. “You okay? You’ve been kinda quiet.” She asked, her wide eyes peering at you.

You just shrugged, looking down at your lap as you spoke. “‘M fine. It’s all just a little surreal, y’know? Up until a couple of hours ago, I really thought you and John B were dead.” You said, building the courage to meet her eyes. “It’s honestly the biggest blessing that you guys aren’t but... a lot happened while you two were away. That’s all.” You assured her, sending her a tight-lipped smile and returning to eating.

“...It was really hard to find a a way to contact you guys. And we didn’t want to risk someone tipping off my dad or the police just yet. It’s gonna be a shit show when we get back to the island, that’s for sure.” Sarah scoffed, raking her fingers through her hair.

“...Sarah?” You piped up, the girl humming response. “It’s good to have you back.”

She smiled happily in response, her teeth showing as her cheeks reddened. “It’s good to be back.”

JOHN B DOCKED THE DRUTHERS TOO AT THE CHATEAU WITH LITTLE HESITATION, A familiar bundle of golden fur running towards him and jumping on him the second he was off the boat. 

“Woah, hey, hey…” He cooed, petting Marley softly as she pawed at his thighs and torso.

“Sorry about that,” You said, shielding your eyes from the sun. “We’ve been crashin’ here since…” You trailed off, shrugging as John B looked up at The Chateau, jutting his bottom lip out and shrugging one shoulder.

“The place looks great, actually.” He said, directing his gaze to the grass, looking side to side. “The weeds are gone and there aren’t any beer cans in the grass.” He laughed out.

“That would be courtesy of me.” JJ bowed dramatically. “Mowed the lawn and threw in a little extra service.” John B rolled his eyes playfully and walked towards the entrance of the home, the five of you following behind him. 

“Not to bring the mood down or anything but I’m not exactly looking forward to a check-in at home…” Kiara announced, walking at the very back of the group. “My parents have probably already arranged my funeral.”

“Same. I predict unpleasantries at the Heyward household after I left the truck in Charleston.” Pope cringed at the thought, holding the straps of his backpack. 

“...No one knows we’re here, right?” JJ threw out, deep in thought judging from the look on his face. “And you two-” He pointed at Kiara and Pope. “-aren’t gonna get in anymore trouble for showing up twelve hours later. Am I right or am I right?”

“You’re not wrong…” Pope seemed to contemplate.

“So that means we have twelve hours to do whatever we want.” JJ smiled, clapping his hands together. “A little pogue fellowship, how does that sound? Let the shit hit the fan tomorrow.”

“The cops are looking for us. It just seems really stupid…” Sarah reminded, a look of worry on her features.

“Sarah Cameron,” JJ approached the girl sitting on the rail of The Chateau stairs. “You’ve heard of my philosophy, right?”

“No.”

“Stupid things have good outcomes all the time.” JJ spoke as you and John B mocked him, sending a smile in each other’s direction as you tried not to laugh. The blonde boy turned around, clapping his hands. “Who’s with me? Let’s go get some beer!”

KIARA HAD MANAGED TO STEAL SOME BEERS FROM THE WRECK, SEEMINGLY WITHOUT BEING NOTICED. By the time Sarah and JB had showered and JJ and Pope set up the lights and hot-tub, the sun had fallen again. The pit in your stomach had started to settle, allowing you to actually enjoy the fact that your friends were alive and well and back where they belonged. Although other events were still swirling in your mind and dampening your mood, you wouldn’t let it show.

The six of you crowded the hot-tub, shotgunning beers as music played faintly from a speaker plugged in near the porch. JJ and John B had some impromptu dance battle while Pope started freestyling out of nowhere, the remaining three of you watching it all like a comedy show from the comfort of the hot tub.

At some point , JJ rolled a joint that made it’s way through the group in record time. You currently had the object clutched between your fingers, laying on your back in the grass near the oak tree with Marley next to you as JJ and Pope wrestled in the grass. 

“Single-leg sweep!” John B cheered, watching Pope pin JJ to the ground — JB, Sarah, and Kie sitting and watching around a bonfire. 

Pope got up triumphantly, hands in the air as JJ got up and dusted himself off. He and JJ shook hands with lazy smiles on their faces before Pope snatched up his beach towel and turned around in the direction of The Marsh. “I’m done!” He called over his shoulder. “I’m outta here…”

“You want a round two?” JJ called in his direction, cupping his hands around his mouth.

Pope chuckled and waved him off without a glance back. “Yeah, I think I’ll take my losses.” The group’s attention was stolen by Kiara who grabbed her shirt from the lawn chair she was on, getting up and following Pope. 

You just scoffed and took another hit of your joint, watching from a few feet away as Sarah’s jaw dropped while John B and JJ cheered. “Really?” Sarah exclaimed. 

“Way to be discreet!” JJ called after the two.

“I leave and this is what happens.” John B sighed in mock disappointment, slapping his hands against his knees as he rose from his seat. “Your boy’s out.” He shook the red cup in his hand. “Beer time.” He told the two blondes before walking in your direction, your splayed figure going unnoticed in the dark of night as JB reached into the cooler to grab a fresh beer, his eyes landing on the art piece the four of you had engraved into the tree.

You watched as he slowly paused, his eyes glossing over as the boy attempted to suppress his emotions. 

“You better cry.” You spoke up, speech mildly slurred from your tipsiness. “It took me two hours to carve your long ass name into that...big ass tree.” John B looked around startled for a moment before looking at down at you laid out in the grass like a snow angel. You smiled and waved lazily at your friend.

He rolled his eyes and laughed, cracking open the canned drink in his hand. “You scared the shit out of me, little weirdo.” He said, taking a small sip. “I forget you’re a lightweight. You need a water or somethin’?”

You simply pursed your lips and waved him off. “Pfft. I am fine. And I’ll have you know I am not drunk or high, just…thinking.” The Routledge boy cocked an eyebrow at you, JJ and Sarah’s mindless banter filling the silence. “I’m serious!” You chuckled out. “I’m not, I swear. I just needed some time to think for a little bit…”

“About?”

“...Are you kidding?” You asked incredulously, lifting yourself up to lean on one arm. “John B, you came back from the dead. And believe me, I am so glad that you and Sarah are back but I’m scared for you guys. Sooner or later, someone is gonna find out you guys are back on the island and when they do?…”

He simply nodded. “That's fair." He sighed. "We tried to get through to you guys for weeks before we were able to send that message.” You hummed in response before yawning. “And even though you haven’t said it yet, I missed you too.” He winked at you.

You flipped the boy off and plopped back down into the grass as the footsteps of someone else appeared.

“What’s happenin’ over here?” He asked cheerfully, slapping a hand on John B’s shoulder. He met your eyes but you looked away. You still didn’t want to talk to him. 

John B looked between the two of you skeptically before letting whatever thought he had go, pointing at the tree in front of him. “This cute little art project.” He told the blonde, referring once more to the memorial carving. “Killed the tree, though.”

JJ laughed, bowing his head down. “Probably, yeah…” He said, sniffing before looking at JB. “I fuckin’ missed you, man.” He said seriously, pulling John B into a tight hug. They buried their heads into each other’s shoulder, embracing one another as tight as possible.

“Kind of lonely over here!” Sarah called out, the two boys releasing one another as she waved the three of you over. The slapped each other on the shoulder and began walking back over to the bonfire, you getting up and whistling for Marley to do the same, the golden retriever standing up slowly and shaking herself off before following you. 

“Aww, look.” The blonde girl cooed from her place on a log, staring ahead as the three of you followed her gaze to find Kie and Pope sailing away on the HMS Pogue. 

“There he goes.” JJ cheered, sending a thumbs up to the couple on the boat. “He jacked your boat, dude.” He said to John B.

“Pope’s poking on the Pogue.” He replied with little emotion, staring out like he couldn’t believe it while Sarah wolf-whistled in their direction. Through her cheering and whistling, you thought you heard something in the distance, prompting you to turn around with a look of confusion etched across your face.

“Hold on,” You spoke up, the remaining pogues attention turning to you. “Did any of you hear that?”

“The chickens?” JJ threw out a possible solution, you shook your head.

“No, I heard something. Like a car door shutting…” You said confidently, eyes trained on the trees in front of you trying to see through them.

After a few moments of squinting, you managed to make out two figures creeping through the bushes and if you weren’t mistaken, they were both armed. “...There’s people in the woods. They have guns.” You said, a hard expression settling on your face as you quickly took hold of Marley’s collar.

“Wha- are you sure?” Sarah asked panicked, standing up from the log she was perched on and edging closer to John B.

“Yes, I’m sure.” You replied quickly. “Hide. Hide somewhere, anywhere but in the house.” You instructed, the three of them just staring blankly at one another. You looked at them stupidly, snapping your fingers to gain their attention. “Hello? Earth to Powerpuff Girls? Unless your wanna play bullet-tag with the strangers in the woods, I suggest you hide!” You whisper-shouted, guiding Marley into the chicken coop by her collar as your three friends seemed to silently decide on hiding in the large oak tree, not before John B put out the bonfire and followed JJ and Sarah who were scattering and climbing up the trunk of the tree one by one.

There was more than enough space for you to hide Marley in the coop, pushing her inside as quietly as possible as she started to whine lowly. You brought a finger to your lips, shushing the animal as you gently pet the top of her head. “It’s okay.” You assured, pushing her a little further in as the sound of leaves ruffling got closer. “Just sit and stay. Okay?” You instructed as you stood up and made a b-line for the tree, climbing up as quickly and quietly as possible, taking the hand that was offered to you and planting yourself on top of one of the thick branches.

Through the leaves and branches, you saw the two figures emerge into the lights of the backyard. 

It was no one other than Rafe and Barry.

There was no way they found out about Sarah and John B that fast.

Barry crept up the side steps to the front door, gun held in front of him as Rafe wandered through the backyard, right under your noses. He stopped in front of the freshly blown out bonfire as Barry threw open the door to The Chateau, creeping inside. 

“Where the hell are you?...” Rafe asked mainly to himself, eyes wandering from the smoking wooden planks. Just then, the sound of glass breaking came from inside the house, followed by the sound of Barry groaning in frustration just before the man in question came barrelling out of The Chateau. 

“Ain’t shit in there!” He shouted, jogging down the small staircase. 

“Nothing?” Rafe asked, his tone calm in contrast to the drug dealer’s.

“No, nothing, Rafe.” Barry spat. It seemed as if Barry’s frustration began to rub off on the Cameron boy.

“They were obviously just here based off the smoke, man.” Rafe reprimanded, voice raising slightly as he threw a hand out in the direction of the smoking pit. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Barry ignored him. “Great observation, Boy Scout.”

“They gotta be around here somewhere...” Rafe reminded, Barry rolling his eyes and began kicking things around in the yard as Rafe turned around, staring viciously at the length of the tree. 

“P.4.L.” Barry mocked the words carved into the wood, Rafe looking back and laughing with the man, the gun in his hand pointed directly at the carving. 

“Well, shit…” The Cameron boy chuckled breathily.

“So, your sister’s a ‘Pogue For Life’ now, huh?” Barry taunted, watching as the lazy smile on Rafe’s face dropped as he looked back at the tree. His eyes started twitching as he gnawed on the inside of his cheek, his nostrils flaring out too. You were no stranger to that look on his face — he was losing it…

“...Shit!” He hollered like a madman, the loud reverberation of his voice causing you and Sarah to flinch violently. Even Barry flinched behind the boy. Within seconds, Rafe had cocked the gun back and fired off several shots, the four of you ducking behind the branches as bullets flew. Barry, who tried to take the gun from his hand, ended up forcing the guns aim upwards, the four of you just narrowly missing being shot. 

“Rafe, chill!” Barry scolded, snatching the gun from the boy’s hands. “You gon' get our asses busted!” 

The silence that occurred after Barry’s warning was what allowed the duo to hear a faint whine coming from somewhere in the yard. Your hands clawed at the wood of the tree, your nails splintering under the force.

You prayed they would ignore it. That they would leave her alone.

But you knew that wasn’t going to happen the second Rafe rotated his whole body in the direction of the chicken coop, his face twisting as he walked towards it. Bending down in front of the small opening, he scoffed, running a hand down his face.

“Would you look at that?” He laughed, eyeing Barry before looking inside of the coop once more. The whining never stopped. “They left the damn dog.” He told him, voice raspy. He snapped his fingers and whistled, trying to get Marley to obey. “C’mere girl.” He tried, but she wouldn’t budge.

“The fuck…just leave it, man. What the hell you gon do with a dog?” Barry tried, annoyed at this point.

For what it was worth, your dog had a very good judgment of character. But you guessed that trait didn’t make Rafe too happy. It was like something in him snapped, shooting a hand out and grabbing Marley by the collar, dragging her out the pen when she wouldn’t listen.

She whined and barked, trying her best to resist his pull as her paws slid across the dirt. 

“No, no, no…” You muttered under your breath, moving to climb down the tree when a forceful hand wrapped itself around your arm, your eyes meeting JJ’s. “Let go. What are you-”

“You can’t go down there, are you crazy. He will hurt you.” JJ told you seriously, his eyebrows setting into a straight line. 

“The hell I can’t.” You spat back, trying to wiggle your arm out his grip to no avail. “If I don't go down there, he’s gonna hurt her.” You told the blonde in hushed tone. You hated how shaky and sad your voice sounded.

“We’ll get her back.” He told you, his grip tightening lightly in reassurance. “I promise you.” You shook your head at his words, swallowing harshly as your teary gaze went back to where Rafe was manhandling Marley. She wouldn’t stop crying out and it broke your heart.

“Jesus, you gon have to get a muzzle for that bitch.” Barry groaned. “And what you gon do when daddy asks where the mutt came from, huh, Country Club? ‘Cause you already know Snoozie’s gonna be looking up and down the island for her, missin’ posters ‘n shit gon be up before you make it back to Figure Eight.”

Rafe just licked his lips, positioned slightly bent down to keep a good grip on your dog. “Trust me, she knows where she is. They’re here, I know that for a fact.” He told Barry, his eyes wandering the seemingly empty yard. “You want your dog back?!” He shouted out into the empty yard space. “Looks like you're gonna have to put on your big girl pants and come and get her!”

That was the last thing you all heard before the two men were leaving, dragging a hysterical Marley behind them. Most dogs would bite when threatened. But Marley wasn’t a violent dog. That was one of the many things you loved about her. But in this moment you hated it.

BY THE TIME KIARA AND POPE HAD RETURNED WITH THE BOAT THE FOUR OF YOU NEEDED TO LEAVE, THE SUN HAD RISEN SIGNALING A NEW DAY. You were all silently petrified and hadn’t said more than five words in the last, what you guessed was, six hours or so. JJ perked up when he spotted his two friends in the small boat, slinging his backpack up on his shoulder and heading towards the two as the remaining three of you followed silently.

“Yo, don’t tie up yet!” He called out, skipping down the pier just as Pope was about to tie up the boat.

“What?” Kiara replied back, squinting her eyes from the sun.

“We’re dippin'.” The blonde told the girl, jogging towards the boat and coming to a stop in front of the two, throwing his bag into the boat.

“Wait, why?” Pope piped up.

“We gotta get the hell outta here.” John B said urgently, getting into the boat right after JJ, you helping Sarah down into the vehicle as JB held a hand out for her, the girl still limping mildly due to her injury.

“Rafe knows we’re here so we have to leave, like, now.” She panted out, sitting down in the boat as you climbed in after her, not saying a word.

“Okay, okay…” Pope spoke absentmindedly, hurrying to un-tie the portion of the rope he did secure, tossing it into the boat. “Wait, what about the dog? Where’s Marley?” Sarah, John B, and JJ all looked at each other then at you, prompting Kie and Pope to share a look before doing the same.

“...We’ll explain everything later.” John B threw out, caressing Sarah’s back. You didn’t protest or say anything, you were too angry to do anything. The pair of them glanced at you once more before getting into the boat themselves.

“We’ll sail a few miles out, find somewhere to camp out for a bit.” Pope announced, getting behind the wheel and starting the engine. "Then, you have to tell us what the hell is going on."

“LOOK, IF RAFE AND BARRY KNOW, IT’S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE EVERYONE KNOWS.” John B started, hands on his head as he paced back in forth in the grass. The group had found an empty clearing a few miles away from The Chateau, an open field near The Marsh.

JJ scoffed, shaking his head. “I told you. We should’ve gone south, man.” He added. “Why does no one ever listen?”

The rest of you sat in the grass not talking. You were sitting criss-crossed, plucking individual strands of grass. 

“...I have an idea.” Sarah croaked, swallowing harshly as she stared down at her shoes. “With me back, my dad’s going to have to choose between me and Rafe.” You paused in your grass plucking, peering up at the girl. 

“Sarah-” John B started only to be cut off.

“He’s gonna choose me.” She said confidently, looking at John B. 

“Just please listen.” Her boyfriend pleaded, holding a hand out in her direction to let him speak. “Ward keeps lying to you, Sarah.”

“No,I…I know it sounds crazy-”

“Yeah, it does.” Kiara told her bluntly. 

“I know.” Sarah defended herself, biting her bottom lip and looking around at the five of you. “But he’s my dad. And I know him, and I know he loves me.” She pleaded with the group, rubbing her hands nervously against her thighs. “I’m just asking for two hours.” She concluded, eyes wide and begging for you all to understand.

You simply shook your head, looking out at the water in front of you. If Sarah believed that her father would choose her, who were you to disagree? You had your doubts but you kept them quiet. If you learned anything in the past month or so, it’s that you have to let people see who others really are for themselves, otherwise they'll never believe it.

Without any more objections, Sarah tucked her hair behind her ears and stood up, looking at the group of you one last time before walking off.

SARAH HAD BEEN GONE FOR NEARLY AN HOUR, THE FIVE OF YOU WANDERING OFF AWAY FROM ONE ANOTHER. Pope and John B were at the edge of water talking, Kiara was laying in the grass plucking flowers, and you were leaning on a nearby tree. 

You got the urge to look up from where you were digging the toe of your shoe into the dirt when the sunlight was no longer beaming on you, coming face to face with possibly one of the last people you wanted to talk to.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “What part of leave me alone do you not understand?”

The blonde scratched the back of his head, looking side to side before shoving his hands in the pockets of his shorts. “Look, I don’t know what I did to make you this mad at me. And even though I would really like to know and won’t stop bothering you until I find out, I promise I didn’t come over here to press you about it right now.”

“Then what are you over here for?”

“I wanted to make sure you were doing okay.” He said, eyes roaming your face as you looked away for a brief second. “You may hate my guts right now but we’re still pogues. And you know how I feel about you...” His voice lowered to a whisper as he leaned in closer. "That doesn't change just because you're pissed at me."

“I don’t hate you.” You didn’t mean to say it. You planned to let him talk to himself while you didn’t respond but something about JJ thinking you hated him really made your stomach turn. Sure, you felt betrayed and led on, but you didn’t hate him. You don't think you ever could.

It would take forces between the heavens and the earth before you would ever even come close to hating JJ.

“...And no. I’m not okay.” You said bluntly, straightening your posture. “I am angrier than I have ever been in my entire life and I can’t do shit about it, JJ.” You groaned, rubbing the back of your neck. “I don’t have any parental figure left, some psychopathic rapist who has an obsession with trying to ruin our lives just kidnapped my fucking dog, my best friend just came back from the dead and the only evidence we have to clear his name and keep him out of jail for a crime he didn’t even commit is being withheld by some batshit crazy woman who lives on a former slave plantation and has a live-in bodyguard, and you...” You ranted all in one breath, stopping yourself right before you went too far. 

JJ just nodded, rolling his lips in on themselves as he gave you a moment to collect yourself and catch your breath before speaking. “Yeah…yeah, that about covers it.” He said, the unhelpful statement causing you to roll your eyes. You don’t know if you purposefully left out the part about him and Kie or if it was a subconscious thing. You figured that would’ve been the best time, if any, to bring it up. But it also seemed like the most miniscule on your list of problems at the moment.

“Well…what about the box?”

“The what?” You said exhaustedly, squinting your eyes as he shifted his weight, allowing the sun to beam on your face. You were too blinded by the golden ray of light to notice how the blonde got distracted by you — the way the sun illuminated everything about you. It made the naturally lighter pieces of your hair more visible, it made your eyes a shade brighter, made your eyelashes more visible, and casted a heavenly glow across your skin. Deep down, he really wanted to get to the bottom of whatever he did to put you off from him this badly because the idea of having you in his life as more than a best friend was looking more appealing every second he looked at you.

Snapping himself out of it, he replied. “The, uh, the box of shit you stole from your mom’s office? That’s, like, hardcore evidence, right?” You pondered on the boy’s statement for a moment. It wasn’t like you’d forgotten about the evidence, it crossed your mind ever since John B’s text came through. But your biggest problem was Shoupe — you didn’t trust him. And you weren't sure if a couple of tapes would be any help.

“Ward has Shoupe and the entire Sheriff’s Department wrapped around his finger. If I hand over the only evidence we have and Shoupe chooses Ward over his oath as an officer, we lose everything.”

“But you don’t think it’s worth the risk if it can clear Bree?” He cocked an eyebrow, clearly questioning your judgment.

You bit your lip in contemplation, shaking your head. “...I’ll sort through everything and see what we can possibly bring to Shoupe. If things go south with JB and this whole key that Pope keeps talking about, I turn it all over to the police. Deal?”

JJ nodded his head, glancing back at his two friends at the edge of the water. “Deal.”

“In the meantime?” You threw out, pushing yourself off of the tree and adjusting yourself. “I’m gonna figure out how to get my damn dog back.” Just then, you saw the HMS Pogue coming towards the shore, Sarah perched on the edge.

The five of you stood up, approaching the edge of the water and watching as the girl let the engine die and the boat come to a halt. The guys moved forward to pull the boat up onto the sand, the girl taking the hand John B offered to assist her out of the boat.

“So, how’d it go?” He asked, hair blowing in the wind as you all crowded each other. Sarah looked to her feet, shaking her head.

“You guys were right.” She sniffled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It didn’t work.”

Everyone nodded despondently, expecting nothing more or less but still disappointed by the outcome. Despite you and JJ’s separate conversation, the pogues weren’t completely aware of the evidence you were holding onto. You figured they'd forgotten. You didn’t want John B and Sarah to have run again, but you needed some time to get what you needed to at least attempt to clear their names without backfire.

“We still have one more opt-”

“What’s that?” Kiara interrupted you, looking petrified at the water ahead of her. You all followed her gaze, finding a fleet of boats with flashing lights sailing directly towards the six of you. 

“How’d the cops find us?” Pope added, taking a weary step back as the boats got closer. 

“They must’ve followed you here.” John B told his girlfriend. “It had to have been Ward.” He spoke rather calmly. 

“Stay on the beach with your hands in the air!” One of the officers commanded through a megaphone. But since when were any of you known to follow rules?

A shared look amongst the group had you all bolting in the opposite direction within seconds, almost tripping over one another in the process. Running on sand was a harder task than you ever imagined, the ground feeling as if it was slipping underneath your feet.

One quick glance behind you and the officers were hopping off their boats, chasing after you all. Your shoes were submerged when you had to run through a shallow bank of salt water to get to the other side of the beach, hoping the trees would hide you. 

Sarah started to slow down, the running causing a strain on her side. John B was quick to scoop her up, throwing an arm around her torso and slinging one of her own over his shoulders. Tree branches and bushes nipped at your calves but you paid no mind to it. 

You could hear the heavy footsteps and radio chatter of the officers behind you all, scattered in the woods, trying to find you all from any and every angle. Reaching the edge of a pond surrounded by weeds, you all let John B help Sarah in first before following, the water going above your knees. 

The further in you waded, the deeper it got until you all had to literally swim across the body of water, Sarah at the tail end of the group. The murky water splashed into your mouth and in your eyes but you kept going. 

The sound of splashing and yelling behind you signaled that you’d been spotted just as you reached the other side, you being the first one out of the water. With no where else to go, you all hid behind the largest tree in sight, the object able to conceal the half dozen of you.

Sirens blared in the distance, your heads snapping behind you to find two police cars flying down the dirt road.

“We’re trapped.” Pope panted, crouching behind the tree. “They got us surrounded. What do we do?”

“We’re not getting out of this.” JJ said, blonde strands soaked, his shirt sticking to his body as he rang out a bandana. “We gotta make a stand.” Pulling the infamous gun from his waistband and wiping it off. You looked at him crazy, snatching the object from his hand before he had a chance to react. Your own hair was sticking to your face, the damp feeling of your clothes making you uncomfy,

“That’s the complete opposite of solving the problem.” You told him as he absentmindedly reached for the weapon. You held it out of his reach, oblivious to John B watching the entire interaction occur.

He was grateful that he had friends willing to get into this kind of trouble for him. But his heart wouldn’t allow any of you to go down with him. Unbeknownst to you, JB had climbed down from the tree, taking hold of your wrist of the arm that held the gun.

Your eyes met his as he slowly took the weapon from your grasp, letting it fall to the ground. Your eyebrows furrowed as he looked at each and every one of you with the most detached look on his face. Smiling at you all, he spoke.

“It’s gonna be all right.” He choked out, gently letting your wrist fall. It was then that you knew — he was surrendering. He took slow, backwards steps away from you all kicking a pile of dirt and leaves over the gun to conceal it.

Just then, Shoupe arrived, wasting no time in drawing his gun in your friend’s direction. “John B! Step out into the clearing!” He hollered, officers surrounding you all from every direction and every single one of them armed. 

“I’m surrendering!” He told the man, hands in the air. 

“Aye, the rest of y’all stay right where ya are, keep your hands where I can see 'em.” Shoupe told the five of you behind JB, all of your hands going in the air slowly. 

“Hey, listen Shoupe, I wanna testify!” John B cut in, eyes red and teary. 

“It’s ‘bout time.” The man said, approaching the boy with two officers trailing behind him. All three of them pointing pistols at you all. “Get down, do not move a muscle. Everybody else, don’t move!”

Shoupe directed one of his deputies to detain John B, the man storming over as he holstered his weapon. He pat JB down quickly before snatching the boy up into a chokehold, clearly out of anger and not protocol. 

“Are you serious?!” JJ was the first to call out, voice echoing throughout the woods.

“Hey, what the fuck?!” You shouted yourself, taking one small step forward but the female officer that chased the car a month ago, Deputy Plumb, was quick to stop you, pointing her pistol right in between your eyes.

“Stay where you are!” She instructed firmly, her eyebrows setting into a fine line. 

You and your friends were forced to watch as the officer arresting John B, who Shoupe referred to as Deputy Thomas, slammed your friend onto his back into the grass and beat on him. You were all shouting and screaming but anytime you took a step, there was officer in your face with a fully loaded pistol or an assault rifle. And these people looked too trigger happy to be arresting a teenager.

Shoupe finally stepped in when Thomas had John B by the collar of his shirt. The man in charge attempted to pull his deranged officer off of your friend but he was pushed back as the man faced John B once more, nostrils flared as he held the boy mid-air.

“...This is for Peterkin.”

And with an uppercut, John B was out cold.

next chapter>

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

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©loveharlow.

[clockwayswrites]

This is why Moku and I are dangerous to each other:

clockways — Today at 2:01 AM

OKAY Danny/Tim where Danny is either ghost king or working for Clockwork or playing Reaper or something showing up to talk to Tim like "MY DUDE, you have got to stop killing so many people, even if it's in the name of good, esp when they're surrounded by rancid ectoplasm"

And this is now the Bats learn about Tim's LOA kill count

Mokulule — Today at 2:12 AM

Heheheh oh yesss

Does Danny show up in the middle of like a supposedly secure location in the middle of a mission?

Like “dude please, I do not need the assassin influx, you have any idea of the trouble you caused killing so many at once?”

Mokulule — Today at 2:19 AM

I’m kinda imagining these new ghosts still following Ra’s Al Ghul fanatically unless Danny can somehow get them rehabilitated and imagine if they found their way to the living world?! Do you want that madman to have a ghost army?

clockways — Today at 2:19 AM

I think a mission or right in the middle of the cave, yeah

and totally, like the pit waters have a Not Good effect on the ghosts so they're even more off than normal I think

Mokulule — Today at 2:22 AM

Okay but I am liking the implication here that Tim has been having this ongoing crusade against Ra’s in the background of everything where he keeps blowing up LOA bases and somehow managing to keep it secret

Here B thought Ra’s was his nemesis, turns out attention had shifted to Tim years ago

clockways — Today at 2:25 AM

Yes, Tim is 100% the Detective now and Ra's keeps being a creepy obsessed mo-fo and Tim just keeps finding ways to blow shit up. if it started at 17 could say Tim is 20, 21 now so they've been at it three years or so

Mokulule — Today at 2:26 AM

And like Danny has had enough, there’s so many of them they have their own realm in the realms and are stirring up trouble trying to find ways back into the living world

clockways — Today at 2:27 AM

Yeeeees They're basically segregated into a specific area of the realms and are still causing shit

Mokulule — Today at 2:28 AM

Maybe they even have their own pseudo pit from gathering rancid ectoplasm and it’s messing up the ecosystem and they’re hurting the blobs that would otherwise be cleaning that shit up

And the pseudo pit is definitely not helping their mental stability

Just trash assassin baby ghosts

clockways — Today at 2:29 AM

LOL Blob ghost sucker fish! yes xD

Mokulule — Today at 2:29 AM

They need rehabilitation and a bath and like it’s really not helping that Tim keeps sending more

clockways — Today at 2:30 AM

Every time Danny starts to get a handle on it BAM more assassins and more bad juice

And then Danny has to ramp up the blob ghost breeding again

Mokulule — Today at 2:31 AM

Yeah and he can only handle a couple at a time and he also has to make sure they don’t go back once he’s gotten them out and it’s just a mess

clockways — Today at 2:31 AM

OKAY OKAY WAIT. Danny makes an appointment with Tim as Wayne CEO

Shows up in his human guise with Tim as just Tim which sets up all sorts of alarms

Mokulule — Today at 2:32 AM

Ahahahaha yesss this is like a corporate problem 😂

clockways — Today at 2:32 AM

How is this normal seeming dude associated with the LOA?? What does he know about Tim??? Who is he???

Dany is just :) Look at me, using the proper channels!

Mokulule — Today at 2:32 AM

Danny is trying to go about this the right way official like

🤝

clockways — Today at 2:32 AM

🤝

Mokulule — Today at 2:33 AM

😂 everyone is very suspicious of Danny Fenton

clockways — Today at 2:34 AM

It doesn't help that he has officially been missing in the living realm since he graduated high sch9ool

(someone ((lancer)) finally noticed and reported him)

Mokulule — Today at 2:34 AM

Oh yeah even more suspicious for potential LOA connection

The fact that it was an old teacher and not his parents reporting him missing despite having graduated high school is also concerning

clockways — Today at 2:37 AM

mmmmy hum just all these red flags and it's very frustrating for the whole batfam.

Mokulule — Today at 2:38 AM

And like the guy looks like Danny Fenton, but is he really? He’s somehow very careful about not leaving prints and DNA where he goes, they’ve not been able to get any surefire confirmation this is indeed Danny Fenton

clockways — Today at 2:38 AM

AND THEN there is a gala that Ra's also shows up to... as does Danny. Just... to keep an eye on things. (He's worried about ghost assassins.)

But Tim sees Danny out of the corner of his eye and !!!

(Danny just went intangible through the wall, he's totally not on the guest list)

Mokulule — Today at 2:40 AM

Oh yes, he’s dressed up well enough, he’s had to learn that as a king and fits in just fine

clockways — Today at 2:42 AM

Tim can't help but recognize that Danny is handsome.

Mokulule — Today at 2:43 AM

Tim thinking he’s got two enemies at the gala now - has Tim told the other bats about Danny or is he hiding that? Cause then Tim might think the others have Ra’s handled so he has to handle Danny- and yeah okay he is very handsome, now that he’s not busy internally freaking out over what he knows (which he was at the first meeting)

clockways — Today at 2:45 AM

Depends how much the Bats know about Ra's interest in Tim. If they're aware at all, he's told them I think since Danny know is a threat to them all. 🤔

But I do still see him handling Danny either way since Danny hasn't met the family- keep things separate until there is no doubt.

Mokulule — Today at 2:46 AM

Okay but Clock, has Danny in his attempt at going through proper channels and requesting a meeting completely forgotten to mention the word ghost since he thought that was implied when he said the dead assassins were a problem for him?

clockways — Today at 2:47 AM

100%

He is still a disaster at explaining things

And look Tim is damn cute, Danny was a little flustered.

Mokulule — Today at 2:48 AM

So when Tim asks him what he’s doing there at the gala and he tells him that he’s keeping an eye out for assassins - Tim maybe takes that as a threat - like Tim thinks they’re playing 5D mental chess here, but Danny is a disaster and is not even playing chess

clockways — Today at 2:49 AM

!! OH Added bonus, Danny's etiquette training is all be like Dorathea and Pandora and etc, so he has a rather unusual speach pattern in King Mode which makes him seem that maybe common english isn't his first language but if he is Danny Fenton that doesn't track....

Mokulule — Today at 2:50 AM

Oh yesss good

clockways — Today at 2:50 AM

They have to end up on the dance floor, of course.

Mokulule — Today at 2:50 AM

Of course

Obligatory

clockways — Today at 2:51 AM

Danny is just all :) I'm putting my training to use! This is going so well!

Tim >:| What is this man playing at...

Mokulule — Today at 2:51 AM

Yes XD

clockways — Today at 2:52 AM

Ra's takes an instant hatred to Danny because he is Taking Tim's Attention!

Mokulule — Today at 2:52 AM

Eventual reveal is going to be hilarious

clockways — Today at 2:52 AM

Which makes Tim think that Ra's and Danny are old enemies

Mokulule — Today at 2:52 AM

Oh yess hahaha Ra’s now trying to have Danny killed

Now Danny is having to deal with both living and dead assassins he is not amused, but if he gets them away from Ra’s in the living world that will help some problems down the line. Just every assassin Ra’s sends disappears and no bodies turn up

clockways — Today at 2:55 AM

It's driving both Tim and Ra's mad

Things maybe come to a head when some of the ghost assassins try to go after Tim and Phantom shows up?

Mokulule — Today at 2:57 AM

XD Does Tim realize this is Danny or does he now think there’s another player?

Are they aware of Phantom as a ghost hero?

clockways — Today at 2:59 AM

HUM so I kinda want to say Tim does put 2 + 2 together- at least at some point. Maybe just because Phantom's new outfit mirrors what his formal clothing had. Not like perfectly but there's a lot of parallels in color and things

Maybe not till he's safe and- if they know of Phantom- they're back somewhere secure

Tim just holding an ice pack to his head jolting up and pointing a finger at Phantom "You're Danny!!!"

Phantom: Uh, yeah??? Of course I am?

-

And then @mokulule got distracted by fic and I went to sleep cause it was 3am. But my can we go from 'random statement' to 60% of a fic outline in no time. (Not it.)

[blueflipflops]

Blessed is The Fruit of Thy Womb III

Chapter 3: Then God Asked Cain,"Where is Abel, your brother?"

First Chapter | Prev | Next

Inspired by @cyrwrites 's prompt of Talia being pregnant from exposure to the Lazarus Pits.

...

" Tt. How should I know? I'm not his keeper."

"Dami you just implied that you have a younger brother still in the hands of the League."

The Robin clicked his tongue again, frustration and familliar irrational anger building up inside him.

"It doesn't matter."

"Dami—"

"It. doesn't. matter."

Dick furrowed his eyebrows in concern as Damian quickens his pace towards the elevator, not wanting to continue the conversation.

When Damian first arrived he was angry, eager to prove his worth and word. It seemed that whatever Talia told him, didnt include Bruce having other sons than him. So finding out about this from not even the highly praised father he has, he had to be told of this by said not known brother.

He demanded Batman.

But there is no Batman. Bruce was dead declared missing for more than months now without any contact or notice. Dick has been relunctantly picking up the slack while juggling his own responsibilities as Nightwing back in Bludhaven. Its been a hard time and believe him, he has juggled before. Both literally and figuratively

When he tried to offer the robin mantle to him as maybe to calm him down a bit, he just got angrier and snippy. He rejected the offer but demanded to be trained for the whole duration of his 'stay'.

"I was sent here to be trained by batman and I won't leave until I finish my goal. If it has to be from batman's...successor then so be it."

Okay, that kinda hurt. He doesn't want to be Batman either y'know.

That was what he claimed as he strolled up jnto the mansion like he owned the place. Ever since then, Dick has organized a somewhat schedule for trainings that he deliberately stretched out at first to test him. Which is. Um. Wrong move. This only serves to piss him off more and more prone to lethal attacks.

Yeah. Okay. That attitude needs a little work.

He tried to rudely order around Alfred the first few days and just got more frustrated and angry when Dick scolded him for it. The kid doesn't even want to eat with them even if they lived together (although that might be stretching it a bit since Dick doesn't even live in the manor anymore.) He still try to include Damian in his activities with Tim (who doesn't seem to concern himself too much about the addition. Too occupied in proving that Bruce is still a-alive. ) , to get him out of his shell and maybe talk about what exactly is Talia thinking and what the actual fuck is going on with the LOA. With all the bull happening around with B's death and Tim's insitence on his non-death then him suddenly disappearing to who knows where and everything else the world decided to pile up on him recently.

Fuck. He's so not paid enough for this. In fact, he's not getting paid at all.

And that was 3 years ago, Tim came back with a clusterfuck of a report and possibly a few ill-advised stuff that he's turning a blind eye on. For now.

Tim brought back Bruce, (which is a whole other cans of worms Dick won't open. He will tho. He will. He will process this shit. Just not today. Nope.) declared that he has outgrown Robin, that he's trying his hand on a solo act and after a little help, Cardinal flew in the streets of Gotham. Dick is proud of his brother spreading his wings and leaving the nest but this leaves Damian with Bruce. While Bruce is still recovering, a new Robin picks up the slack. Dick and Damian were a team and the kid was so desperate to prove himself worthy of the mantle that he has been streching himself as thin as Dick lets him and while he follows orders, he's quick to taking advantage of all and any loopholes. If it weren't making his job 10x harder, he would've been amused of such a Robin Move. In all of those years, they grew close to each other, the kid even respects Tim now!

So when Damian mentioned—no, implied that he has another brother still back in LOA, no one can blame Dick for being blindsided.

"Dami. What brother?" He chased after the short feral child.

"Tch. I don't see how that's any of your business, Grayson." He gave him a derisive look as he pushed the button to lift back to the manor. "Your only use here is to instruct and teach me as is your responsibility as Father's succesor not meddle in my personal life. After Father has recovered, he shall continue my training and things would go as it should be." He gave Dick one last sneer before the door closed and a faint hum echoes out in the cave along with what he said.

A brother?!?!

...

When Tim first met Damian Al Ghul Wayne, the demon brat tried to kill him. Which is. Just how his life is now, he guess. The kid was 4"6 beansprout with a sword and is not afraid to use it. Apparently, he tried to stab Dick the first time too. The kid is clearly delusional but after several blood tests Tim has had to admit defeat.

This brat really is B's kid and he hates him already.

This could be a plot.

Ra's would do anything to gain power over Batman and Gotham but mostly Batman.

It smells like a plot.

Dick couldn't get anything out of him other than that he was 'the Blood Son of Batman' and that he was sent here for Bat Training by Talia and he's not leaving. He also said something about his birthright to being the next Batman and being his robin. Which is. Yeah. Hurts a bit. He knows he hasn't been able to be Dick's Robin (oh the combination of those words) being too busy proving that Bruce is still alive. He knows it. But he's still Robin.

He's still Dick's Robin and Dick is not going to give the mantle away just because demon brat here throws a temper tantrum about it. But he did. Well, he didn't exactly but. He offered making Damian his robin. Tim knows logically, this would be the best plan of action given everything with them and then everything with him but he still can't help the sharp insecurity inside him.

But the brat did something surprising, given his whole rant of birthright blah blah blah. Tim wasn't really listening. He looked at Tim with such disgust and derisiveness and then looked away with a click of his tongue. Which is so uncalled for what the hell??? What the fuck did he do? The Batling even had the gall to look so offended for even offered the position he claims was always his. What the fuck.

He says he doesn't want a position already claimed by somebody else and suggested to create a new identity if he has to. Dick was quick to veto that. Thank god. The kid looks like a ten year old. A ten year old from hell, yeah but still. Even Tim was at least thirteen when he started the whole gig. It might not seem like a lot but three years is a BIG difference. Assassin training from birth or not.

The kid looked at Tim with pity and disgust that he doesn't even know why... well whatever but for some reason despite the hostility, the kid would not so subtly support him. Not that anyone else would notice if they weren't a bat, but the kid kinda grew on Tim despite his own attempts not to. And while Tim isn't Dick, he would like to think that they've grown on him too.

After returning with Bruce, a new vigilante identity, and one less spleen, Damian has finally and officially took over the Robin mantle. Despite the initial denial, he was quick to adapt into the role with a hidden child-like enthusiasm. Well. For an assassin raised kid in a role that allows him to beat up grown people in the streets every night. Thank god Dick has already given the kid numerous lectures on the "no killing" rule because Tim is so not doing that.

And no, he is not processing his little LOA escapade.

Although looking back at it, it seems a lot more suspicious with how Ra's was a lot more confident and smug. More... reckless yet defensive.

Of what exactly?

That question has been eating Tim up ever since he had a better headspace for it coming back and it has been driving him crazy. No matter what angle he mentally review everything that happened, Tim still can't for the life of him tell what exactly was Ra's hiding. No matter the connections nor channels he has gave anything away other than the fact that they've been training an heir but Tim already knew that with Damian in the picture and yet...

Something's missing...

When they found out that Red Hood was actually the deceased Jason Todd aka Robin II, Tim thought that was it. That was what was missing and try to bury it along with the annoyance, a bit of resentment, and his many broken bones as a result of that little... reunion of theirs.

Like seriously? An adult robin suit? Cringe, mr. Robin sir. Tim can't believe he idolized you. If it wasnt for the fact that Jason broke his jaw, he would've said something about how if he's gonna kill him wearing the robin suit then the least he could do is not be a coward and wear the original scaly panties. It's like as if nothing is sacred in this world anymore. Really.

After a while, Hood started working with... well not with them. But uh... adjacent might be a better term for it. Tim notices when Jason is strangely quick to startle when Damian is in the picture. It's only recently that Dick was able to convince him to switch to non lethal rubber bullets but before they had to dodge a ricochet of actual real bullets when Damian is near Jason. And the self proclaimed ex-crime lord won't even explain why he reacts to the shortstack like this. Very rude. It's like getting beaten to near death doesn't even have benefits or whatever.

It wasn't until another case that involves the reluctant team up between Cardinal, Red Hood and a likely not supposed to be here Robin, that Tim got a clue as to why. As usual, Hood somehow does not notice Robin and almost shot Tim. Again. For the fifth time this night. Jason said something about a pit demon or something fucking up something something. I'm sure this will all make sense tomorrow. But then Robin snaps back, geniunely offended. Something about how he's not a...

"A fucking what?!"

"Tt. A Lazarus Pit baby, Cardinal. Do keep up."

"Wait hold the fuck up. Hold the motherfucking fuck up. What the fuck do you mean your brother is a Lazarus Pit baby?"

At least Tim wasn't the only one getting a rug pulled under their feet tonight. A bit concerning how distressed Hood was sounding but Tim is flexible. He can handle this. Before he can ask many reasonable questions, Robin turned to glare at them. Impressive how a kid as short as him make Tim feel like he's being look down on when the brat has to crane his neck up high just to see their faces.

"Hood called me a pit demon. Which I am not."

Damn. Touchy. So he's got opinions on pit demons now. What even are pit demons? It certainly doesn't sound good. "

"Hood has trained with the League for a time, did he not? So he must have confused me for my... younger brother."

"The fuck are on about? I couldn't be more obvious that I'm talking to you."

"Wait. What brother?!"

"Robin what brother?!?!"

....

My parents made me subscribe to christianity just so I can make fic titles like these

Damian + fam POV of Child of Lazarus Danny AU

A whole ass POV and setting change can be a bit disorienting especially with a time skip mixed in but at this point we moved away from the creepy cult and into a somewhat normal outside world. Damian has a slightly better relationship with his brother here at the same time a lot more distant than canon. Damian has been able to establish himself as Robin a bit later than canon and Tim was able to decide for himself to hand over the mantle and step out of the Robin training wheels. Didn't like the Red Robin name sorry its just as if Tim wasnt ready to part with robin just yet and hadn't had the time to find himself before making Red Robin. A bit of a fan of the Cardinal name for my boy which is also red.

Funny how Dami subconsiously called Danny a pit demon all these years when all his other brothers subconsiously called him that too. He's so offended its hilarious lmaoo

Also funny how Tim thinks about his relationship with Jason. For me I think Tim won't sink back in fear Jason cuz in the comics man Tim has been roasting the dude any chance gets like Jason hasn't been roasted enough. Love my cringefail asshole Jason. Would've love to punch him in the face.

This was supposed to have Jason and Bruce's POV too but it was getting too long. so. Yeah.

First Chapter | Prev | Next

Them Tags:

Btw y'all should probably just follow the Child of Lazarus!Danny tag

@emergentpanda-blog @skulld3mort-1fan @rosecinnamonbun @ver-444 @learning-to-fly-on-my-own @dannyphantomphan @yasminerd00 @blep-23 @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @vythika96 @terzatheunderscorerima @ballzfrog-blog @readerzj @overtherose @undead-essence @justwannabecat @fisticuffsatapplebees @satoshy12 @thegatorsgoose @meira-3919 @mynameisnotlaura @gmkelz11 @chrysanthemum9484 @aph-mable @lizisipancardo @rasalghul777 @writers-extraordinaire @u-a-wizard-jamie

[ladybugsimblr]

Dizzy Des on the Music Industry, Bailey Kay, Money vs Marriage, His Legendary Career & More | JUICE CHAMPS R E B E L. T V - 118K Views - 10 hours ago

Comments 43K

wakeupmrwest Best interview yet! You don’t want to skip a second of this. Thank you Dizzy for joining us and schooling these dudes.

Dizzy Des This is why I started this network. A platform to speak our truth!

redpillscholar I knew Bailey Kay was just like all the other 304s. Using 🐱 to get ahead. No talent. You don’t want a female like that Dizzy. She’ll ruin your brand.

BadKidForLife King shit! Mad wisdom! I was taking notes!

kingb 🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢

bkstan 🦋🦋🦋

futuretoxicex Did you even listen to the interview before coming in here with your stupid butterflies? Take your twerking somewhere else. Dizzy was spittin facts.

rubberbandshan Reported dot com. Let me get outta these comments before I puke.

Ocsar: So you really suing BK?! How did it get this bad?

Dizzy: I don’t know! I’ve been asking myself the same damn question. One minute we’re all good, reconnecting, and then next thing you know she’s skipping out on business deals.

O: We know things started going downhill after your album release party. What really happened that night?

D: I had an amazing time and I made sure Bailey did too as everyone saw. But I don’t think she was able to handle those old feelings coming back. Instead of being honest with herself and going for what she really wants, she turned on me instead.

O: Wait. Wait! Run that back. Old feelings? You two had something going on?

D: We have history.

O: What kinda history? You smashed the Queen?

D: Let’s just say when Deangelo brought Bailey Kay to my door she was crackable. She was willing to do whatever it took to get put on. We worked hard, partied hard. Wild times back then.

O: Woooow!

D: Unfortunately we couldn’t make it work as a team. I tried but she chose a different direction. I guess she thought Khalil would do her- I mean do it better over at Blueprint. Obviously she chose wrong. I’m the King of this shit. We could have been on top of the world. True music royalty.

O: I mean BK is definitely on top of the world right now. Are you trying to take her down?

D: Funny choice of words but nah. I want her to keep winning in this industry. But I also want what’s owed to me.

D: Once I win my court case, get my simoleons and maybe a thank you, I’ll be waiting for her with open arms. Ditch those cornballs you got controlling you Queen. You need a high value sim like me to make you be the beautiful butterfly you claim to be.

[britcision]

Happy WIP Wednesday friends! Not a huge deal for you today, but I figured I’d drop the Flashback and give you the last piece in the “Bruce Puts His Head In His Butt” for the night!

(Bruce is tranq’ed by Alfred minutes after the call ends and is put to bed. In my heart. He might actually walk himself up but we all know it’s Alfred’s glare that makes it happen)

Just a taste of chapter 14 of Dead and Loving It, you can find the fic on AO3 or from my pinned post which is the latest chapter, but links to the first and all subsequent chapters are in each post!

———————

A Good Excuse To Be A Bad Influence

Jason was actually on his way to bed on time for once in his life, the early end to patrol and lack of crime lord duties giving him a chance to get a full five hours sleep.

He should have known he wouldn’t get lucky two nights in a row; Constantine wasn’t around to distract Bruce anymore.

He’d contemplated not answering. Contemplated trying not to shoot Bruce in half an hour if the fucker showed up at his window.

The pit growled.

It was the worst thing he’d ever heard. The worst thing he’d ever felt. And he did feel it, vibrating in his very bones.

It sent shivers creeping up and down, muscles tensing as if to run away from something inside him.

He answered the call, hoping it wouldn’t show in his voice.

“What.” Flat, unfriendly. Not encouraging conversation.

“You didn’t come to the cave.” B’s voice was equally flat, but in his case it sounded like a condemnation. An accusation.

Jason gritted his teeth.

“I have shit to do in the morning. Make it quick,” he snapped, giving his bed a glare it definitely didn’t deserve.

His pillows had never done anything to hurt him.

There was a momentary pause before B audibly decided not to push it.

Good.

Jason was in a mood to bite.

“We have intel on the Infinite Realms. I’ve sent the report. You need to stay away from Danny Fenton, for your health,” B said, still cold, still clinical.

Like he didn’t care. Like what Jason wanted didn’t matter.

Jason’s grip tightened and the phone case cracked.

“Yeah, no. Fuck off.” He spat the words, adding “get new phone” to his list of chores for the morning.

He’d been doing so well with this one. Of course Bruce had to ruin it.

At least the old man didn’t seem surprised by his reaction.

“Jason. It… he. His abilities may affect your condition,” he said slowly, sounding tired. Old.

The pit snarled, sensing weakness, and Jason kinda wished he was still lost in its rage. Back when he was, it was easy just to hate those moments.

B showing signs of humanity fucking hurt.

“He is. He’s making it better,” he shot back, brooking no argument.

“We don’t know that, Jason. Please, just… just for a few days. Until we can talk to the League, understand what he’s doing to you.”

Was.

Was that Bruce begging?

It froze something small and soft in Jason’s chest, stuck him in place. And did nothing to stop the flood of icy rage from filling him up.

Filling his chest, crushing his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Because of course, anyone and everyone else’s judgement was worth more to the man than Jason’s.

Begging Jason to listen to him, when he would never, ever, fucking ever listen to Jason. When it didn’t fucking matter if Jason begged.

“And why the fuck would the League know better than a doctor from the Realms?” He finally snapped, ignoring the way his throat tightened.

There was a long silence.

“A doctor?” Bruce asked softly, his voice still so flat and emotionless that only his kids could have read the confusion. Jason rolled his eyes.

“Danny brought me to a doctor. I’m gonna be fine,” he ground out reluctantly, part of him resenting Bruce’s constant insistence on knowing everything.

But… well. If it got the guy off his fucking back.

There was a long silence, one that Jason was fully aware B was likely spending working this new information into his latest paranoid fantasy.

Jason seriously considered just hanging up and going to bed. He was about to do it when Bruce spoke again.

“Would this doctor be willing to speak to the League?” And there it was again, Batman voice, clinical and distant and always, always fucking suspicious.

Jason rolled his eyes harder. With emphasis. Willing to be interrogated by first the Justice League and then separately also goddamn Batman.

Actually, now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure B wouldn’t get anywhere with Frostbite. Frostbite took his work seriously and was, yeah, king of a full realm of yetis.

None of Bruce’s pointed silences, menacing looming, or vague growls would bug the guy who got Danny through Fucked Up Ghost Puberty.

(And would probably be helping Jason through his own Fucked Up Ghost Puberty… joy of joys.)

It might actually be fun to see him try. If just being here wouldn’t put Frostbite in danger, because hell fucking no that wasn’t happening. The guy may not be his king but Jason would still die first.

But of course, in all his paranoid bullshit about the Realms influencing Gotham, B had somehow conveniently missed what America was doing to the Realms.

Like Jason hadn’t even done the full write up.

“Not while the fucking League are required to hand him right to the US government for torture and experimentation. Which, by the way, did you read my report on the Anti Ecto Acts?” Jason asked sarcastically, doing his very worst fake concern.

And again he was met with silence. Fuck, maybe Bruce hadn’t read it. Jason had dropped it in the day before all this gala bullshit had started, and it had been a busy two days since.

Maybe B deadass hadn’t put the pieces together. Might as well hammer it home for him.

“You know, the one that says you, me, Cass, and Damian are all non-sentient because we’ve been exposed to the pits?” Jason added, eyes narrowing.

Which wasn’t technically true, since it was the resulting liminality and ability to process ectoplasm that made them count, but Bruce didn’t need to know that yet.

Finally he spoke again, voice gruff and clipped.

“I’m looking into it. But for now, Jason, please-” he said again, the cover of Batman beginning to slip.

But Jason was done. No fucking chance Bruce was giving him orders when he hadn’t even bothered asking for Jason’s opinion.

He wanted to spout off about dangers of the Infinite Realms after talking to some wet paper bag of a man who hawked his soul like it was a pokemon card. Hard pass.

And even after hearing that Jason knew what was going on a damn sight better than Bruce did, he still wanted to push him around?

Fuck that.

“Sorry B, legally non-sentient, guess I can’t be blamed for my actions,” he drawled, then turned his phone off and dropped into bed.

He had a lot of shit to do before picking Danny up in the morning.

——————-

Jason will be using “legally non-sentient” as an excuse long after the laws themselves are repealed, and just you fucking wait until Damian hears he can try it too 😏

Sorry Bruce, Damian can’t socialize today, he’s legally non-sentient and can’t be blamed if he bites someone

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[chosen-hero-inari]

Whumptober Day 8: Sleep Deprivation

5 Times The Phantom Thieves Didn't Sleep + 1 Time They Did

I

Hey, let’s meet up at Mementos today.

Yusuke’s ashamed of the tension that goes through his back at that text. The literature professor had decided to give them all a surprise take-home paper to write and turn in by tomorrow, and he really needs to work on it.

But, he can’t let his grades come before making sure his friends are ok, can he? Or the people who made those requests. It’s not a problem, he can just work late tonight. And take some time to work on that piece for class.

He’ll be fine with only a couple of hours of sleep.

II

“Makoto?” Sae asks. “You’re back late.”

“Sorry, busy with some work after school,” Makoto replies, yawning. If it’s resolving a Mementos request for another student, then technically it’s Student Council work. It’s her responsibility as Student Council President to resolve it at least.

“Are you prepared for your exam at cram school tomorrow?”

Makoto blinks. “Huh?”

“Makoto! I’m paying for you to go and–”

“No, I meant, erm why would you even bother to ask that?” Makoto chuckles. “Obviously I’m ready for it!”

“Good, even if it’s a practice exam, it’s important to be confident now so you’re even more prepared for your entrance exams.”

Makoto goes to the kitchen and makes herself a pot of coffee. She shouldn’t be up too late.

III

“Does this shit make any sense to you?” Ryuji asks.

“Nope,” Ann sighs. Putting the math textbook down. Two heads are supposed to be better than one, but maybe math homework is just too powerful for that.

“God,” Ryuji says, “I feel like you’re gonna call me a shithead for this.”

“I call you a shithead for a lot of things, what is it?”

“It fucking sucks that Ren asked us to go to Mementos today.”

“Honestly? Hard agree.” They’d invited Ren to their homework session today, but he’d never gotten back to them. Not that he needed it, but you know, it was always nice to hang out.

Except they wanted to do this in the afternoon, when they’d have more time and could meet at a cafe.

Instead, Ren decided today was the best day for requests.

“What if we blocked off Mementos for like, Wednesdays?” Ryuji suggests. “Then we can schedule around it better?”

“But what if a request is urgent. Plus Palace stuff.”

“Ugh, you’re right.”

Ann flops back and lets the textbook cover her face.

“Ann?”

“Yeah.”

“I kinda hate that I can’t tell him no.”

“Yeah, I know but like, it’s whatever?” Ann says. “That’s just part of being a student and a Phantom Thief, I guess.”

IV

Haru practically dives for the phone when she hears it ring. “Futaba-chan?”

“Hey, I got the info you wanted,” Futaba says. “This investor seems pretty clean.”

“Oh my gosh, thank you so much,” Haru says. “I’m supposed to get this report in to the investors tomorrow and I can’t ask for a delay and I wasn’t sure who to trust and–”

“Hey, no problem!” Futaba says. “Just don’t tell them you heard it from me.”

“Thank you, I owe you so much, Futaba-chan.”

“No prob, I’m probably gonna pass out, how about you?”

“I can’t, there are still things I need to arrange with my father’s will and then I’m meeting with lawyers in the morning, goodness I need more coffee!”

“How much have you had?” Futaba asks.

“Oh, four or five–”

“Cups?”

“Pots.”

“Holy shit, Haru!”

“I know, I know,” Haru says. “I was going to do all of this after school but then we had that Mementos run and now I have to do it all before morning.”

“You should have just told Ren you couldn’t make it! He gets we have lives, it’s not like he hangs out with us every time we ask.”

“Mementos is different Futaba, you know that. I’ll talk to you later.” Haru hangs up and gets back to work.

V

It’s not wrong to hack her friends’ phones if she’s genuinely concerned for their well-being, Futaba tells herself.

Besides, taking a quick peak at their calendars is like, barely snooping. She could text and ask them but she’s really hoping they’re asleep.

She’s not, but she doesn’t have school in the morning. She can go to bed at 7am and still get the proper eight hours of sleep a growing girl needs.

She and Morgana are the only ones who aren't students and Phantom Thieves though, and oh boy is being a high school student busy.

Let’s see, Makoto has an exam at cram school tomorrow, Haru had that meeting they were just talking about, Ryuji and Ann were texting (ok texts were a bit more snooping than calendars, but like, it’s important!) about meeting up to do a bunch of homework they’d put off while they were clearing Sae’s Palace, and Yusuke had an email reminder from a teacher about an essay.

And none of them had brought any of this up when Ren asked them all to go to Mementos today.

Damn, looks like Futaba has to be the responsible one.

+1

Ren doesn’t know why Futaba suddenly suggested group movie night, but hey, it’s always good when she wants to be social, and his schedule’s free now that they’ve finished up the requests.

They all gather around the attic, and Ren’s a little worried about them all watching the tiny TV, but it’s not really a problem, because pretty much everyone else falls asleep by the fifteen-minute mark.

“Wow, they’re tired,” Ren says. “Guess they don’t have Mona to tell them to get to bed early.”

“Uh, Ren about that?” Futaba asks. “Do you ask if anyone has stuff going on before saying to meet up for Phantom Thief stuff?”

Ren blinks. “I mean, I guess not but I figure they’ll tell me if it’s super urgent.”

“Ok, but see, I think they don’t,” Futaba says. “I actually asked all of them about it, and they feel really bad about canceling Mementos plans, so they push all their stuff back and do it at night. Like none of them got any sleep the last couple of days.”

Ren furrows his brows. He kinda, hasn’t thought about how his friends are always willing to show up when he calls for a meeting, even on days they’re not normally free to hang out. He just, you know, figured they did the same things he did. He doesn’t have a problem getting everything done before going to Mementos.

Then again, he’s the one picking Mementos days because he has nothing else going on.

“I’m a shit leader,” Ren says head hanging back.

“No, I don’t think you’re shit!” Morgana says. “We just gotta tell them they don’t have to come to Mementos if they’re busy, it’s not a problem to push it back.”

“We could like, make a group calendar?” Futaba suggests. “Plan ahead a little bit? I mean Palaces and emergencies are one thing, but I dunno, maybe everyone can plan better and say if they super duper can’t?”

“Yeah,” Ren says. “But uh, let’s do that later. They look like they need their sleep right now.”

[radioactive-earthshine]

Yo, I sent you an ask a while ago about picking up some issues of L.E.G.I.O.N. to see what the hype was and you asked me to report back. I am thrilled to announce that you’ve gotten me Brainiac-pilled. Green skinned blond man you entrance me. They suck so bad. It’s amazing. I’ve been picking them up where I find them ever since. PZH LoSH and R.E.B.E.L.S. as well. I’m pretty sure issue 28 of L.E.G.I.O.N. is the most harrowing comic I’ve read all year. I kept texting my sibling out of nowhere as I read about the shit they’ve got going on, keeping up with the Kardashians style.

Vril II’s everything about him. He’s so buckwild. The way he is not a good person. The manipulation, extortion, and murder. The control issues. He’s so fun to watch. He actively makes his workplace more toxic because he’s part of the hiring process and his morals and standards for acceptable collateral damage are absolutely busted. The way half of Lyrissa’s funeral was people trying to figure out what to do now that the only person who stood up to him is dead. The way everything bad has happened to him.

I'd make the Vril Dox II was born in a cardboard box all alone joke but that A. Is actually Pzh Querl's origin and B. Would have been an improvement. I’m keeping a running tally of how many separate instances there are of babies being tortured. DC just does not make them like this anymore. On the other Doxes counts, I’m enamored with the Lyrl custody drama as well as Querl, and the mean kinda Autism.

I’m getting an obscure Japanese doll for Christmas, (he is also a green skinned blond man) and actively planning on sewing him a lil Querl outfit. I have some purple four way stretch already, this is how you know I’m cooked.

I am so delighted that you have found L.E.G.I.O.N. as compelling as I did when I first read it. It really is one of those comics that when you are reading it you go through multiple stages of horror, disgust and intrigue and you're not sure who to root for, if anyone.

Issue #28 (Lyrl's birth) was such a phenomenally bold, visceral story about the horrors of both being pregnant and giving birth and I think I had to have read it at least four times in a row. The body horror and science fiction of aspect of it was so phenomenally well done, I don't believe I have read anything else quite like it in anything else. Period.

L.E.G.I.O.N. tying into PZH directly also just makes my brain happy because the way in who they are tethered together is both seamless and yet so subtle to really get it you have to be well read in both.

The way how Vril Dox II is directly responsible for Querl's mother being the way she is due to his deal with Neron is still something that leaves me in awe because never once did either comic outright SAY that is what happened. But it was so tragically obvious.

I am glad that L.E.G.I.O.N. and R.E.B.E.L.S. exist - and they also make me a morose for the current state of comics because there is no way that these comics would EVER be made today.

But they exist, and they will always exist, and we're so lucky for that.

👀 I'd like to see that doll.

[defectivevillain]

struck by your lightning, chii

reader’s pronouns: he/him

here’s chapter one [you’ll want to read this first, otherwise this part won’t make much sense]

as i mentioned in part one, this is a chat fic and the formatting was mostly made for ao3. it’s a lil wonky here, so here’s the ao3 version if you’d prefer to read that :)

a lil recap of last chapter: you're assigned to work the red carpet at a national awards gala. there, you interview tons of celebrities, including kaminari! kaminari is super nice & you leave the event feeling exhausted, relieved, and satisfied all at once. you return home to take a light nap, only to wake up to a notification from your phone. it seems kaminari is texting you...? that's weird.

Direct Message

You: SKJNFIOE LK>BFGJSL B>GEJRHKR BLWUIFKGJ ER

Kaminari Denki: u good?

You: TOTALLY COMPLETELY FINE

Kaminari Denki: OKAY, GOOD ?

You: YEP…

You: 😶

Kaminari Denki: 😶 😶

You: sorry i didn’t believe you

You: i have to be careful with messages from unknown numbers…

You: well, you get it, i’m sure.

Kaminari Denki: ya i get it

You: also, i have something to say to you

Kaminari Denki: wassup

You: waffles are better fck u

Kaminari Denki: ur so wrong.

You: I AM ABSOTLEUYL NOT

Kaminari Denki: LMFAO YOU ABSOTLEUYL ARE

You: FUCK U

Kaminari Denki: 😘

You: hold on. hold onnnnnn.

You: how’d u get this number ??

You: pls don’t tell me my number is leaked

Kaminari Denki: nahhh it’s not leaked

____

You have to breathe a sigh of relief at that. It’s not like you’re an important public figure or anything, but the thought of anyone having access to your phone number sends shivers down your spine. You already get enough spam calls.

____

Kaminari Denki: i got ur number cuz…

Kaminari Denki: idol perks

You: you just asked my coworker, didn’t you

Kaminari Denki: yup

You: sigh…

Kaminari Denki: they told me that if i hurt you

Kaminari Denki: they’d murder me

You: gsjfdkheng3oaejk….

You: just give me a moment to scream

Kaminari Denki: …

You: ok im bck

Kaminari Denki: LOL dude ur good dw abt it 😭

Kaminari Denki: i thought it was kinda cute actually

You: unfortunately, they were dead fucking serious… they could kill a bitch

You: i wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve already killed someone, actually…

Kaminari Denki: well that’s comforting

You: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You: also, congrats on the award !

Kaminari Denki: thx

Kaminari Denki: does this mean you’ll listen to my music now?

You: maybe

Kaminari Denki: hmph :/

You: why?

Kaminari Denki: why what?

You: idk. why do you care? it’s not like my listening will give you any money

Kaminari Denki: …

Kaminari Denki: cause ur cute and i like you?

You: what

Kaminari Denki: wha

You: what

Kaminari Denki: wha

You:

Kaminari Denki: welp i’m just gonna go then 🏃🏃🏃

You: no waittt

You: sorry, you just surprised me

Kaminari Denki: no one’s ever said that to you before?

You: well, i mean, yeah, but…

Kaminari Denki: who. when. where. why.

You: plssss

You: what album should i start on then

Kaminari Denki: lightning

You: oki

Kaminari Denki: tell me how u like it after ;0

You: okiii

You: alr i’m gonna go to bed

Kaminari Denki: gn (´｡• ω •｡`)

____

Kaminari: it’s been a week are you alive

____

You grimace at the notification displayed on your lock screen. Admittedly, you hadn’t meant to ignore him- time just slipped away from you. Guilt stews in your chest all the same.

____

You: no i’m definitely not

Kaminari: sooo what’d ya think

You: oh SHIT that’s what i forgot to do

You: im so sorryyyyy the agency has been running me ragged 🙏

Kaminari: don’t apologize for doing ur job,, lol

Kaminari: what are they having you do?

You: whaleeee

You: before, i was more of a local reporter

You: but since the awards, i’ve actually been interviewing other celebrities and stuff

Kaminari: oh

You: it’s weird, tbh

Kaminari: ya a lot of music folks are pretty weird

You: says you

Kaminari: oi! i’m not weird 😡

You: im jk lolll

Kaminari: you know for a reporter you have awful grammar

You: well fck u2 then

Kaminari: :P

You: people keep recognizing me now,,, it’s weird

You: like literally a girl came up to me yesterday and was like “you interviewed kaminari!!”

Kaminari: oh shit lol

You: right?

You: other than that, i’ve been good

You: hbu? you’ve probably been busy

Kaminari: nah, not that much. just writing new music.

You: oh cool

You: speaking of music

You: i really liked your album

Kaminari: rly? u listened to it?

You: ofc i did!!!! it was cool

Kaminari Denki: what was ur fave song :P

You: probably shockwave!

You: it was very heartfelt

Kaminari: yeah… i wrote that one in the midst of a breakup

You: awe :(

You: at least it made a great song, haha

Kaminari Denki: yeah, that’s a good way to think about it actually

You: 😌

Kaminari Denki: so what other music do you listen to, then?

Kaminari Denki: besides mine, obviously

You: i listen to sero’s music sometimes

Kaminari Denki: skljehgeiroljhngejlrkshg

You: have you heard of him?

Kaminari Denki: …

Kaminari Denki: yes

You:

Kaminari Denki:

You:

You: r u good?

You: u got rly weird all of a sudden

Kaminari Denki: one sec, i need to kill a bitch

You: wut

____

Direct Message

Kaminari: SERO I AM GOING TO MURDER YOU

Sero Brain Cells: I’M SORRY I DIDN’T MEAN TO RIP YOUR POSTER

Sero Brain Cells: IT WAS AN ACCIDENTTTTTT

Kaminari: what

Sero Brain Cells: what

Kaminari: what poster.

Sero Brain Cells: ohshit💀

Kaminari: sero. what poster.

Sero Brain Cells: ur limited edition one….? ha…… ha……

Kaminari: wow i am literally going to kill you twice

Sero Brain Cells: NO PLS SPARE ME

Kaminari: and to think that wasn’t even what i was going to talk to you about

Kaminari: damn

Kaminari: ok. focus, kaminari.

Sero Brain Cells: i swear i’ll make it up to you bro

Kaminari: you will?

Sero Brain Cells: yes just ask for a favor. any favor and i’ll do it

Kaminari: perfect. stop making music forever.

Sero Brain Cells: okay

Kaminari: nice

Sero Brain Cells: great

Kaminari: perfect

Sero Brain Cells: wait WHAT THE FUCK

Kaminari: u heard me hoe

Sero Brain Cells: wtf crawled up ur ass dude

Kaminari: i asked my friend what kind of music he listens to and he said yours

Sero Brain Cells: holy shit ur talking to that reporter?

Kaminari: HOW IN THE HELL

Kaminari: LITERALLY HOW DID YOU KNOW

Sero Brain Cells: lmfaooo

Sero Brain Cells: kami, i know all of ur other friends. bc they’re also my friends.

Kaminari: sighhhhh

Sero Brain Cells: anyway. he listens to my music?

Kaminari: -_-

Sero Brain Cells: that’s cool tbh

Kaminari: -_-

Sero Brain Cells: give him my number, will u?

Kaminari: i despise you

Kaminari: why are we friends

Sero Brain Cells: because i’m sexy and hot and funny?

Kaminari:

Sero: <3 ?

Kaminari: … <3

Sero Brain Cells: and bc i make good music? ;)

Kaminari is offline.

Sero Brain Cells: damn 💀

____

Direct Message

You: u good, dude…? it's been a few days…

Kaminari Denki: definitely… dude.

You: don’t kill sero, pls? I like his music :$

Kaminari Denki: oof

You: i’m messing with you

You: although i do actually like his music a lot

Kaminari Denki: staHp

You: but i like ur music more ;)

Kaminari Denki: DSNJKGLJSNJGFKSGJLS

____

Direct Message

Kaminari Denki: oh!! also!!! i completely forgot- u left ur placard on the red carpet the other day

You: oh FUCKKKKKK MEEEEE

Kaminari Denki: i mean if you insist

You:

Kaminari Denki:

You:

Kaminari Denki: [placard.jpg]

[placard.jpg]: A picture of the ever-familiar placard that you had at the red carpet. The back is filled with your rampant scribblings and notes. It’s hardly legible once you really look at it. Upon closer investigation, there’s a note in glittery gold ink at the bottom with a cute doodle of a Pikachu. Evidently, that was Kaminari’s doing.  

You: AKSJHGSDJSHJKHJS THANK YOU FOR SAVING IT

You: omfg that would’ve been so bad if someone else had gotten ahold of it…

Kaminari Denki: yeah some of these notes are hilarious, dude

Kaminari Denki: “Don’t ask Ground Zero anything. Ever.”

You: NOOOOOO you weren’t supposed to see that

Kaminari Denki: “Don’t ask Shoto about his father,” is a rly good one actually

You: oh goddddd pls spare me

Kaminari Denki: dude it’s okay calm down

Kaminari Denki: do u want it back

You: yeah ig

You: wouldn’t want to leak industry secrets 🙄

You: since u have it… can u just mail it to me

Kaminari Denki: don’t have ur address

You: well i’ll just give it to you then, dude

Kaminari Denki: i don’t have postal

You: wut 😶

____

Direct Message

Kaminari: DUDE HELP MEEEEE

Kaminari: SOS SOS SO FUCKING S

Sero Brain Cells: what’d u do this time

Kaminari: so yk how the cuteass reporter dropped his placard and i picked it up

Sero Brain Cells: u did??? dawg ur whipped 💀

Kaminari: THAT’S NOT IMPORTANT

Kaminari: but anyway i texted him abt it today and he said i could just mail it to him

Kaminari: but!! i was hoping to see him again and obv i didn’t want that to happen

Sero Brain Cells: and????

Kaminari: and… [textconvo.screenshot]

Sero Brain Cells: oh i know you did nottttt

Kaminari: I PANICKED AND SAID I DIDN’T HAVE POSTAL

Sero Brain Cells: yeah,,,, i can see that…..

Kaminari: I'M SO DONE

Sero Brain Cells: dude no ur not

Kaminari: wut

Sero Brain Cells: this is ur chance!!!!!! u can get him to hang out w u by offering to give him the placard thingy

Kaminari: have i ever told u that ur a genius

Sero Brain Cells: not enough, evidently

Kaminari: WELL UR A GENIUS

Kaminari is offline.

Sero Brain Cells: well, ty

____

Direct Message

Kaminari Denki: oi i have an idea

You: what’s up

Kaminari Denki: abt the placard

You: yes?

Kaminari Denki: ur agency’s near that one cafe right

You: espressobeanz? yes

Kaminari Denki: i can meet u there tmrw

You: um what

Kaminari Denki: ?

You:

Kaminari Denki:

You: wait what

Kaminari Denki: what?

You: idk, just… don’t you have more important things to do

Kaminari Denki: not rly

You: ok…

Kaminari Denki: plus i wanna hang out :(

You: ohhhh oki

You: wait holup holdup

You: the cafe is kinda public… r u gonna be ok

Kaminari Denki: why wouldn’t i be

You: idk don’t you get mobbed in public whenever people recognize you

Kaminari Denki: i mean yeah but it’s fine

You: u sure?

Kaminari Denki: yep!

You: okiii sounds like a plan then

Kaminari Denki: cool

You: i get off work at 3pm so let’s just meet then?

Kaminari Denki: 👍

____

Direct Message

Kaminari: omfg sero ur forgiven for ripping my poster

Sero Brain Cells: HOORAY

Kaminari: im meeting w him tomorrow Ψ(`_´ # )↝

Sero Brain Cells: niiiiice!!

Kaminari: i'm so scared

Sero Brain Cells: what why

Kaminari: i'm scaredddd

Sero Brain Cells: okay okay don’t freak out

Sero Brain Cells: have you picked out an outfit?

Kaminari: nope

Sero Brain Cells: okay so here’s what we’ll do. I’ll meet u at ur place tn and i’ll help u pick out something to wear

Kaminari: and i’ll order food

Sero Brain Cells: YES NOW U GET IT

____

You throw your phone on the couch and bury your head in your hands. Your heart is racing at the thought of seeing Kaminari again. You have to pause and take a deep breath to calm yourself down. Thankfully, you have the rest of today to spend freaking about and picking out ten different outfits that you’ll never wear.

As for right now, though… It’s time to distract yourself. You pull up a Youtube video and resolutely pretend not to think about your date tomorrow.  

____

chapter 3

____

thx for reading <33333

tagging: @tejas-kris​ and @felmierr​ :0 

[dyingporcupine42]

I can has ozempic?

Yeah so you need to go to this website called https://churchofshrek.yolasite.com/

I know the URL seems weird it's just so the Authorities don't catch us

Anyway it's gonna ask you for some personal info (age, gender, weight, a quick essay about feminism, mothers maiden name, social security, credit card info, list of previous addresses, list of organs donated, etc. etc.) and then we can get you some ozempie girlypop

Once you receive it in the mail we're also gonna need you to complete a lil survey but there's a coupon attached for a free curderburger at Culver's once you finish it it's just customer satisfaction shit we gotta do. Haha gotta give the people what they want amirite

Anyway typically costs are a little odd because we operate on a trade and barter/odd favors system and it really depends on what shalesman we pair you with like if you get paired with me I typically ask for either my chemical romance tickets and some cash for travel expenses or a set of Turkish flutes but my buddy Shreven tends to go the first born child route. Some people just wanna be written into your will or to go out for drinks or like go on an ice fishing excursion it is all over the place my guy

But yeah that's pretty much everything I think um it's kinda an off brand ozempic we like to call it bozempic around these parts mostly because Shreven has a hard time like making the "o" sound and he has to put a b in front of it so he'll say like bovary instead of ovary like madame bovary which actually gets pretty confusing for his customers because he has ovaries on his barter list but when you speak to him on the phone he'll ask for a bovary and customers will send him copies of madame bovary so he's actually got quite an extensive collection of copies I think he's gotten every edition published

Anyway we are knock off so we have a couple odd side effects nothing too major though LOL like sometimes people grow wings but they only work about half the time and typically were talking like moth wings but they still are fairly large whether or not you can actually fly has more to do with your bone structure than anything. Another thing is um like there's been a couple instances where customers report seeing like little house elves or brownies around their place after purchase but we're not sure if that's related or not. One guy actually has a leprechaun which was weird cause he was Portuguese but who knows. Anyway I'm most people don't really mind their little visitors but if you want them gone just contact customer service and they'll give you some spells to rid your house if their presence.

Ok so I think that should be about it please eme time know if you have any questions I'll be happy to answer any questions if you have any questions and if you have any questions I'll be happy to answer them if you have any questions! Stay safe out there! I hear lots of porcupines been dying lately 😬

[campbells-content]

I need to vent while I cry so au that I might delete later. This is also very much and will always be a first draft.

Tw for homophobia and transphobia

So, basically the entire akuma class is queer. Adrien is nonbinary, Ivan is trans, Marinette is god knows what, I feel like the rest is obvious. Mylene is the only cishet there but she will quicker turn to violence then let anyone talk shit to her friends or boyfriend.

Ms B is the most supportive adult in some of their livess so they confide in her when they're trying to figure something out. Andre (the mayor) somehow catches wind of something queer in his daughter's class and turns out he is a little homophobic, but whats worse is audrey is mega homophobic. She makes him do law things and make it mandatory for teachers to report kids who are openly out.

Chloe confronts them but they shut her down and honestly scare her. They don't find out about Chloe but they do find out about Zoe. Someone reported her at school and Andre thought isolation with fix any problem so he went full Agreste and made her stay in a room as far from chloe as possible. This situation is what causes Chloe to actually offer a sister relationship with zoe. She sat outside Zoe's door, unallowed in, and talked for hours, sliding homework under the door and working together. Chloe needs to ask for advice but Ms B is telling the class she had to resign for everyone's sake. The temp teacher is some dude and the first thing he does is introduce himself then his personal beliefs. Those beliefs are better left unsaid and the class kinda gets loud for a sec and he threatens them and they get a little louder, thinking there is power in numbers but he shuts them down, saying he will report only one of them if the rest got quiet. At random he picks chloe. He threatened to slowly make his way through the class until no one was left. Before anyone argued he had already made a note.

The next thing you know, chloe is getting yelled at and her parents are saying less than kind things. For some reason, they're like, isolation isn't working and then send chloe to conservation camp. This is now chloleka. Juleka, Luka, Zoe, and Rose plan a heist when they find out from Zoe who finally snuck out, and get some of their classmates to help. 'Girl'squad sleepovers at alya's and Marinette's, safety in numbers and all that, plus they know alya and Marinette's parents are safe. Heist goes down, chloleka have a choni kiss and escape. Everything goes smooth except someone tried to stab Luka and Zoe stopped them, taking some damage in the process. They skedadle, getting home safe. The class is very much in a safety in numbers mindset. Gabriel literally just doesn't care so a lot of sleep overs happen and Adrien's. They just try to get through the school year, there are some close calls, chloe and zoe don't return to school, Gabe finds out Adrien is nonbinary and just starts a new fashion line that plays on both feminine and masculine traits.

And yeah, I feel better now so they all live happily every after, chloe and zoe get online education, courtesy of Gabe. They all graduate and move into one big apartment complex and live happily ever after, finding family in the familiar and hope where there was none. Also luka and zoe bonded after the heist and idk if that makes sense as a relationship but my limited knowledge of current ml allows me to say they do.

Happy pride month. Screw anyone who preaches hate. I love you. No matter who you are or what you've done there is a place in my heart with over a thousand capacities to fill for anyone who needs it.

[harrypotterfuryroad]

really disappointing to hear that Graham Linehan was being homophobic. I try not to get sucked too deeply into the weeds of this shit but I thought that his mockery of all the straight male "lesbians" on the Her app was very funny and cool of him. Was he slinging around accusations of noncery at random GNC gay men then? :(

anyway love seeing you on my TL, happy new year. Do you ever listen to Blocked and Reported?

i mean i kinda just threw his name out there as a high profile example of twitter-addicted abyss gazers, he usually does an ok job of not being hugely homophobic, i prob should've used anna slatz as an example there instead

but basically i don't really trust anyone who tosses the term "groomer" around

and yeah i listen to b&r, started when i saw a bunch of people calling jesse a genocidal fascist and i didn't know who he was so i looked into it and found out his calls for reasonable evidence-based medical decisions were what got him the fascist rap

[notanotherockstar]

Juri vips got away with worse huh? Red bull dropped him immediately. Shit driver gets the best punishment. You shouldn’t be racist ableist in any community.

of course ableism shouldn’t be tolerated in any form and bianca was definitely wrong for liking ableist tweets and then issuing a non-apology because she got caught

that being said; a) juri vips was definitely not dropped by rbr immediately and christian horner said in an interview that they would continue to support him,

and, b) i was not talking about juri vips — max verstappen, the face of formula one, used xenophobic and ableist language on his radio and when he received backlash for it also gave a non-apology (one of his many controversies)

charles leclerc, one of the most popular drivers on the grid, said that blm was a violent movement when asked why he wasn’t kneeling alongside others

carlos sainz made racist comments towards chinese people, is a trophy hunter and also a right wing nut

daniel ricciardo said the n-word and has yet to apologise for it and has displayed misogynistic behaviour on numerous occasions

pierre gasly is a borderline pedophile who made a post talking about how it was ‘great to have grid girls back’

lando norris defended juri vips and said that r*pists should be allowed back to races

fernando alonso said that lewis brought racism onto himself

lewis hamilton, even though he’s my favourite driver, has a history of hanging out with abusers and is currently making a movie with brad pitt

sergio perez said that women should go back to the kitchen (about susie wolff mind you) and is also kinda nonce-y

kevin magnussen also made shady comments about the blm movement and nico hulkenberg has repeatedly made degrading comments towards women

lance stroll just recently shoved his trainer and then behaved very childishly towards a sky sports reporter — he faced zero consequences for this because his father is a highly influential person in the sport

again, i’m not going to defend bianca’s ableism but i just think it’s hypocritical for the f1 communities on social media to get so offended over this whilst actively stanning the drivers mentioned above

[breadandblankets]

Im posting some of my ideas for a less shit railroad here so that i can reference them in my fics, you can look at them too ;)

runs their operations down the main arterial railroad of the commonwealth (bedford station, greygarden, oberland, all the way into boston), which is where they got the name

mainly focuses on counterintelligence operations, seeking out synth infiltrators, wiping their memories, and releasing them out of the commonwealth where they hopefully won't run into people that

The railroad they call home is the Boston & Maine which goes all the way up to portland, maine (connections with acadia? B&M connects to the Maine central with connections to bar harbor via bangor)

This RR would be created explicitly to oppose the institute's actions on the surface and by extension, to protect people

This RR still sees synths as people tho, and works on “rehabilitation,” which is a nice way of saying implanting false memories, it's much faster and easier than doing therapy at them

This is a heavy point of contention with both the nat born (to steal a term from star wars lmao) and synth born humans within the RR

Ditto the fate of gen 1&2

Deacon has a much much heavier role in this au, seeing as the focus is no longer on running synths and more on intelligence, he probably has an even wider spy net than in canon

in this canon, the institute only creates gen 3s for the purposes of above ground

Gen 1s and 2s are used as manual labor inside the institute

synths in this don't "replace" people that storyline kinda doesn't make any sense re: Art random encounter

in this synths are created and placed in a way that they can assimilate into communities and report back

coursers run operations that require a... less delicate hand

institute scientists will refer to gen 3s less as "property" or "machines" and more like "assets", still dehumanizing but like in a more "friendly acceptable capitalism" dehumanization

Barbara (she may or may not have been independent) still makes sense here, the UP deathclaws still make sense here

McDonough is not a synth, hes just a bigoted asshole

Someone else high up in diamond city is institute tho (geneva? Who knows)

synths in this instance are more like communists of the 50s, in that they may indeed be working for "the enemy" or... they're just people

main message here is that you can't make generalizations about groups, that people are people

This makes the brotherhood Extra asshole-y and fashy in this version